


where they glow

by falsegoodnight



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Tagging just in case), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bottom Louis, Explicit Sexual Content, First Love, Gaslighting, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Lost Prince Louis, M/M, Magic, Near Death Experiences, Prince Louis, Slow Burn, Tangled AU, Thief Harry, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 70,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsegoodnight/pseuds/falsegoodnight
Summary: “Look, sweetheart,” Harry starts, shaking his head. “Name your price - seriously. I’m willing to be generous, just don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. I’ll take my crown and we never have to see each other again. Easy peasy.”Louis frowns at the term of endearment that sounds condescending dripping from Harry’s lips, stepping closer. “Something brought you here, Harry Styles. Call what you will: fate,destiny…”“Liam Payne,” Harry mutters.“And I have made the decision to trust you,” Louis says, ignoring the odd comment.“A horrible decision, really,” Harry says, looking amused. “Then again, I’m the one sitting here in ropes with multiple bruises on my head so who am I to say anything about decisions?”-Or, a Tangled AU where Louis dreams, Harry runs, and the sun prince has been missing for almost nineteen years.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 147
Kudos: 416





	1. part i

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Majority of the events that take place in this fic draw from the movie, including that almost-drowning scene (which may be a bit more graphic in narrative form, do keep in mind) and also including Mother Gothel’s gaslighting/manipulation. However, the latter is extrapolated on a bit more in this fic than in the movie so also keep that in mind. There’s scenes with blood and injury but nothing too graphic or detailed, and also mentions of hanging and capital punishment. There are also descriptions from Harry’s past regarding claustrophobia but it’s very brief. If you have any questions or concerns about that, please feel free to ask! Also: unsafe sex!
> 
> This is a work of fiction, etcetera etcetera. Just like the movie, there are unrealistic scenarios and depictions as well as a multitude of historical inaccuracies. Just suspend your disbelief. I changed a few things, added a few things, and moved other things around, but it does stay relatively close to the source matter in terms of general plot and themes. 
> 
> _Note on the hair:_ Louis is not blonde in this fic, because... uh. It glows golden/blonde when he sings but only then! The length of his hair is also left up to the reader (though I see it as shoulder-length or just above) for all our own pleasure. But it’s nowhere near as long as the movie length! That was just one detail that was too far from realistic for me to cope with and also to work around so I made an executive decision. 
> 
> I also just want to clarify that the majority of this story is in Louis’ perspective but there are a few scenes from Harry’s perspective interspersed including a couple in the beginning that may give a false idea. 
> 
> Thank you [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz) and [Chelsea](http://kittenlouis.tumblr.com) for reading this over for me! I have no idea what I would do without you both and I’m so grateful for all your support and help. Also a big thank you too everyone else who supported me through this process on Twitter/Tumblr and a special shout out to my friend, Mindy, who’s been the number one supporter of this story since June 2020, I believe. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

**_Almost 19 years ago_ **

Alvin had been working as a personal guard to the king for almost six months now, standing vigil outside his personal suite for the first half of the night every other day. 

Today is not like most other nights though, because there’s no longer only two people he’s helping protect. 

There’s _three._

Prince Louis was born just four hours ago, healthy and bright. He’s a miracle child in every sense of the word. King Marcus and Queen Josephine had been trying for an heir for almost three years before her majesty finally announced she was expecting back in May, the excitement and relief spreading all across the kingdom. It’s the sort of joy that everyone in the kingdom can feel, thrumming in their veins and glinting in their times. 

However, underneath that giddy anticipation, there’s suspicion and curiosity from some Coronians as well. Alvin hasn’t spoken to anyone particularly forceful about those opinions, but he’s definitely been hearing the rumors going around that the queen had received help… as in, help of the _magical_ kind. 

Alvin had been there himself when the king and queen’s special visitor arrived at the palace a couple months before, weaving curiosity and mystery wherever she went. A woman with opal eyes and strange golden symbols inked onto the back of her brown hands. Someone he’s resolved himself to staying as far away from as possible. 

But he also remembers hearing the whispers from the maids about her lilting voice and tales of a flower that glowed with the light of the sun, a magical flower that could heal any ailment and reinstate health and youth into the body of the consumer. He’s heard plenty of those whispers, but he’s never been one to believe in nonsense like that. The woman is obviously a phony and she had nothing to do with the prince’s birth. 

Instead, he chooses to believe in the event for what it truly is: a miracle. Corona now has an heir and he will grow up healthy and strong. The miracle baby… the Sun Prince. 

He hasn’t gotten a close view of him or anything, but he _had_ glimpsed a peek of the infant prince’s soft tufts of golden hair and sparkling blue eyes when he and the other guards were standing watch outside the room as the queen and king let their family in to see. What he saw was a baby filled with pure light, as if the miracle that had brought him to life transforms into happiness that spreads to everyone around him. 

It is an aura fitting for their future leader, he reasons. 

And Alvin feels honored to be here, steady and disciplined, as he protects the royal family that he swore fealty to just half a year ago. He stands with his sword in its scabbard and a pollax in his right hand, five other men on duty flanking his left and right sides. They are silent and unwavering, an impenetrable barrier between the royal family and any threats to their safety. He was confident - _steady_ \- in his belief that they could protect and defend from any possible harm. 

Unfortunately, he was gravely wrong. 

The scream came sometime after midnight, loud and strangled as it snapped them all into high alert. The voice was unmistakable - the queen was screaming. Alvin and the other guards on watch rushed into the suite, faced with a sobbing Queen Josephine, crumpled to the floor with pure devastation etched across her body. King Marcus was shouting, telling them the hag went out through the window. Telling them to stop her. 

Alvin’s ears rang as he and the others raced for the balcony, the sight of the empty crib that was missing one miraculous baby burned in the back of his eyes. In the end, Alvin and the others did everything they could. The army was called and cries of panic spread across the kingdom. It wasn’t enough. 

By the following night, there were only two again. 

-

**_Present_ **

Louis opens the shutters to the big window, letting the sunlight stream in with a flourish. He hums, a smile curling his lips. 

“Pascal?” he sing-songs. “Are you out here?” 

He checks amongst the flowers he planted early November, searching for a familiar chameleon shape, no doubt camouflaged. 

It’s what must be their dozenth game of hide-and-seek and Pascal is getting more and more determined to out-smart Louis. Too bad Louis refuses to let that happen. His lips quirk up at the side when his eyes catch on a curve of a tail, brown to match the dirt. 

“Oh gosh, guess he’s not here,” he says, feigning a sigh. He grips the shutters, going to close them right as he hears a tell-tale squeak. It sounds almost like a snicker - Pascal is clearly pleased with himself. 

Grinning, Louis reaches out and grabs the chameleon, giggling at his squeak of protest. “Got you!” he cheers. Pascal groans, flicking his tail out in irritation. “You tried,” Louis coos sympathetically. “Best twelve out of twenty-one?” he asks with a smile. 

Pascal hops from his hand onto the sill and then shakes his head, even going as far as to stick out his tongue to exclamate how against the idea he is. 

Louis sighs, putting his hands on his hips. “Well, what do _you_ want to do?” 

He recognizes the sly look Pascal gives him, tail flicking out to the land above. Louis grimaces. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says, fixing Pascal with a knowing look. When the chameleon pouts, he sighs. “Oh, come on, Pascal. We have plenty of fun in here, safe and sound.” 

Head tilted as if to say _really?_ Pascal still scampers into Louis' outstretched hand, letting himself be carried back into the room. 

“There’s so much to do,” Louis continues, looking around. “We can paint! Or sew, or read, or write, or dance, or play chess, or dress up… See? Lots of fun.”

He glances down at the chameleon who gives him an unimpressed look. 

“Yes, I _know_ that’s what we always do, but isn’t that what makes it better?” Louis says with a sigh. “There’s comfort in routine! Like how I start every day with a cup of tea and you start every day by camouflaging somewhere and then jumping out to try and scare me! Comforting!” 

Pascal snickers, no doubt replaying the times where he _did_ scare Louis - lots of shrieking and accidentally stubbed toes being involved. 

“Mother is going to be home later this evening too!” he adds, ignoring Pascal’s eye roll. “Maybe she’ll do something with us this time!” In actuality, Mother doesn’t really like Pascal - in her eyes he might as well be a rodent and Louis is pretty sure the feeling is very mutual, but he hasn’t given up hope in warming them up to each other yet. “That’s when I have to tell her my idea too,” he says, grimacing. 

He glances at the calendar which shows December, a series of red x’s marking every day including today: the 17th. Exactly a week from today, there’s a heart on the 24th. 

It’s Louis’ birthday. 

And this year he’s finally going to ask his Mother for the one gift he’s been wanting since he was eight years old. He’s actually _really_ going to do it. He made a promise to himself. No losing courage this time, it’s going to happen. 

“A lot of things to do,” Louis repeats, a bit more subdued. He glances at Pascal and forces a smile. “So let’s get to it!” 

-

“C’mon, c’mon, what the fuck are you doing?” George yells when Harry comes to an abrupt halt, adjusting the satchel around his middle and patting the top, unable to help but smile because he knows what lies inside. He still hasn’t completely processed that it’s there and that they somehow pulled it off. 

That they succeeded. 

However, they’re not out of the woods yet - both literally and metaphorically. It’s been a few hours since they burst from the capital city gates and plunged into the forest, the thundering of hooves behind them. It’s certainly not Harry’s first time being chased and the same goes for his companions, and after employing all their best tactics of losing a pursuer and running without pause, they’ve finally left the imminent danger of Liam Payne and his men. 

Harry is breathing hard, muscles in his legs burning and the bruises he got on his arms and sides from some scuffles with the royal guards are stinging, begging for treatment. He needs a break, is the thing, which is why he stopped. George and Stud may be glaring at him like he’s an idiot, but he can’t help but be human. 

“Relax, boys,” he laughs. “Payne and his men are probably headed to the Cape by now, just like we planned.” He slips a hand into his satchel, rummaging for the pieces of paper he had ripped from a lamppost. “While we’re taking a breather, look at this,” he adds, disgust evident in his voice. 

“What?” George asks, sounding annoyed as his eyes scan the trees around them, obviously paranoid. Harry holds them out in reply, shaking to get his attention. When he looks over, his face pales. “Shit.” 

Wanted posters.

One for each of them. Harry’s lips curl into a frown as he looks down at his. **Harry Styles: WANTED,** and just underneath, the unmistakable, **DEAD OR ALIVE.**

That’s not what he’s focused on, however, not when his eyes are automatically drawn to the poorly drawn likeness of him etched below in crude black lines. He scowls, turning to show the others. “They never get my nose right.” 

George and Stud come over to see clearly. Of the two, George is taller than Harry, but Stud is a good deal shorter than them both. What he lacks in height, he makes up for in volume. Harry almost jumps when he speaks, voice loud and brash as ever. 

“We’re being hunted and all you’re concerned about is whether they got a good look at your nose?” he sneers. “If anything, it’s a blessing. It means people have less of a chance of making the connection when they see you in person.” He glares down at the papers, gaze searing. “Ours on the other hand are scarily accurate. This is exactly why this was a terrible idea.” 

“Calm down,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “You knew we’d be chased down for a bit. And we haven’t seen or heard any sight of them in a good hour now. We’re in the clear, guys. And in five days time, we’ll be by the border and then we’re golden. I’m more concerned about how the fuck they got these printed so fast.” 

They had completed the heist just after noon, less than five hours ago. After a slight struggle with the soldiers standing on duty and then some complications with their original escape route that had led to them scaling rooftops and even jumping into the river at one point, they finally made it out and into the trees. 

In Harry’s eyes, the forest is a blessing. Back in the city, they were at a major disadvantage as they ran on foot while their pursuers chased them on horseback, but here in the forest, the upper hand has switched. While Payne and his men struggle through dense shrubbery and narrow paths, Harry and his partners can disappear between the trees, away from Payne’s angry determined eyes. 

Liam Payne. Also known as the son of James Payne, the captain of the Royal Guard. He had been the head of the contingent assigned to guard the Royal Museum of Corona for the following week during its special exhibit. More specifically, they were assigned to guard the pièce de résistance of said exhibit - the very item now carried by none other than Harry himself.

He’s clearly taken it as a personal offense that Harry stole right from under his nose, chasing after them with a company of a dozen soldiers. It’s the most Harry’s had on his heels ever, and if he wasn’t focused on running, he’d be flattered. 

“You really think we’ve lost them?” Stud asks after a moment. 

Harry scoffs. “Have I ever led you wrong, mate?” he asks smugly. 

They both fix him with unimpressed stares. 

“Let’s not forget who got us lost back on Cordelia,” George says icily. “Or who thought it’d be a swell plan to go into the museum unarmed.” 

“He’s talking about you,” Stud murmurs pointlessly, brows raised. And _God,_ even his whispers are loud. 

“Oh c’mon! Cordelia Avenue is a nightmare, I think we can all agree on that. And we didn’t need any weapons when we’ve got the best one up here,” Harry says, tapping his head and then smiling as he raises his fists. “And here. The important thing is that we got out, right? Besides, that split lip is doing wonders for you, mate,” he says to George who looks seconds from popping a blood vessel. 

“Watch your mouth,” George grunts, licking his bloody bottom lip. 

“I think it’s you that needs to get yours checked, actually,” Harry says, before chuckling. George glares at him with his unpatched eye and he holds up his hands in surrender, grinning easily. _“Relax._ Take a moment to reflect, boys. We did it! And we’re going to be fucking rich!” He yells the last part, making George and Stud stiffen. 

“Are you trying to tell the entire kingdom where we are?” George hisses, shoving up into his face. 

Harry frowns, gripping George’s shoulder a bit too hard as he pushes him back. “You need to calm down, mate. We’re fine.” 

Except, apparently the Universe has decided to stop humoring Harry because at that very moment, a loud neigh of a horse cuts through the air. They all freeze. 

George turns to Harry, exposed eye scorching. “The _Cape_ , you said?” 

Harry laughs awkwardly. 

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Stud says, never one to handle stressful situations very well. “What do we do?” 

“What do you mean what do we fucking do? We fucking run, you fucking dumbass,” George snaps, looking angry. 

So they run. Harry stuffs his wanted poster back into his bag, making sure the goods are secured before he breaks ahead from George and Stud, always the fastest much to George’s displeasure. It becomes clear as the sound of the approaching guards grow louder that Payne and his men are close on their tails. 

Harry makes the mistake of glancing back over his shoulder after a bit, seeing the exact moment Liam Payne appears in his line of vision, bursting from the trees with banners of garish violet and gold. He sees the exact moment Liam sees him too - watches the pure hatred spread across his face. 

Then he turns around and runs faster. However, the universe is _really_ trying to test them, because in the next few minutes, Harry and the Stabbington brothers break through the trees into an open field. Harry’s heart drops to his throat. 

“Well, fuck,” he says, ignoring George’s angry, _“Styles, this is your fucking fault!”_ as they race into the empty green. It’s wide and open - the exact opposite of what they need. But there’s nowhere to go but forward, even when Harry spots the scarp ahead of them. It’s not particularly tall but it’s big enough to be an issue, blocking their only way out of the field and back into the safety of the trees. 

“There’s nowhere to run, bandits!” yells a familiar voice behind them. Liam Payne is catching up, distance between them growing shorter and shorter. 

“Like hell,” Harry says, determination growing. He spots a branch sticking out from the cliff face that looks sturdy enough to use as leverage. Still running, he says, “George, Stud, you guys need to boost me up to that branch when we reach the rocks, okay? Then I’ll help pull you both up.” 

“Like hell,” George mimics, teeth grit. “Your ideas never work, Styles.” 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut as they come to a stop before the scarp, the rocky wall looming intimidatingly over them. “We don’t have time to argue. I’ll let you hold the satchel so you know I won’t run off. Just do the damn thing.” 

“George, let’s do it. They’re almost here,” Stud rushes, face pale as he continues to look behind them. Harry keeps his gaze focused ahead, knowing that if he stops to look back again he’ll lose his confidence. 

Relenting, George takes the satchel when Harry offers it to him and then he and Stud create holds with their hands, letting Harry take a running start and use them as a stepping stone, leaping into the air and grabbing the branch with both hands. 

He can hear Payne’s familiar screech, getting closer and closer. He adjusts his vest with a sigh, tilting his head back to stretch his neck. 

“The fuck are you doing? Help us up, Styles!” George yells. 

Harry pauses, lips curling into a smile. He turns to look down at them, pulling the satchel that he grabbed right from under George’s nose. He had used his foot to snag it, but now it’s back in his hands where it belongs. 

“Bye, fellas,” he grins, watching the realization dawn over their shocked faces followed quickly by anger. They roar in protest, lunging up with arms outstretched. Their fingers grasp air and Harry chuckles, turning his back on the past and plunging deep into the forest yet again. 

By the time Payne and his men arrive at the scene, Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen. 

-

The yell comes late evening. A familiar, “Louis, Louis, let down your hair!” that means Louis’ mother is home again, back from her two-day trip to the Market. 

“Coming, Mother!” Louis yells, jostling the easel where his current painting project is resting. Pascal has the nerve to snicker at him when he gets paint smudged over his tunic, but Louis can’t even be properly annoyed, panic bubbling up inside him. “Oh God, oh God!” he frets, dropping the paintbrush. His mother will be so angry! 

“Louis! I’m not getting any younger down here!” Mother called out, right on cue. 

Tugging his tunic off hurriedly, he rushes for the closet where Pascal has already opened the door, flicking his tail at a clean blue one that Louis grabs gratefully. He shrugs it on and then shoves the dirty piece of clothing deep in the recesses of the compartment, shutting it quickly. 

“What on _earth_ is taking so long?” his mother yells. Louis jumps, eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he apologies, hands fumbling to work the pulley. He pulls the ropes as fast as he can, lowering the loops for the feet to Mother’s level. When she’s secured each shoe into the hold, they work together to pull her up.

“Oh, Louis, how do you manage to do that every day without fail? It looks absolutely exhausting, darling.”

Louis chuckles awkwardly, smoothing out his tunic and hoping Mother doesn’t realize that it’s a completely different one from the morning. “Oh, it’s nothing.” 

“Then I don’t know _why_ it takes so long,” she says. Louis freezes and she laughs loudly, setting her bag filled with fruits and nuts on the table. “Darling, I’m just teasing!” 

“Uh, alright,” Louis says, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, repeating what he’s spent days going over and practicing in front of the mirror. “As you know, a week from today is very special -”

Mother gasps, interrupting his words. “Louis, is this _paint_ on the floor?” she exclaims, pointing an accusing finger across the room by the easel. 

He winces, having forgotten about the dropped brush. “I’ll clean it up!” he assures her, already hurrying for a rag and dropping to his knees to scrub it away. 

“Louis, darling, how hard is it to clean up after yourself?” Mother chides, hands on her hips as she watches him. “You know how I feel about dirt and messiness.” Louis does - he knows very well, actually, but it had been a mistake and he didn’t realize there was a mess until now. 

“I’m so sorry,” is all he says, tossing the rag into a bucket to wash later. He turns back to Mother, clearing his throat. “As I was saying, in about seven days, I’ll -”

“Jewel, Mother’s feeling a bit poorly. Would you sing for me, lovey? It’d make me feel so much better - and then I’ll feel ready to talk,” Mother interrupts, pressing the pads of her fingers to her cheeks and grimacing. “I can feel the wrinkles coming in.” 

“Oh!” Louis explains, immediately rushing for a chair. “Yes, yes, of course! But Mother, you always look lovely.”

“You flatter me, darling,” Mother coos, brushing her hair back. Louis used to find it odd how different the two of them look, Mother with her raven curls and amber brown eyes and Louis with his chestnut locks and eyes the color of the sky. Their features are different too, Mother all sharp lines and angled facets that contrast sharply to Louis’ own softer edges. 

Whenever he’s painted them side by side - like the painting he has above his desk - their differences have always stood out to him, but Mother’s always reassured him that they were the same where it really counted. “It’s you and me,” she always says. “Us against the world.” 

Louis assumes he resembles his father more closely, not that he knows the first thing about the mysterious man. He was a _bad_ man, Mother always tells him with a sneer, and Louis is lucky that he’s never met him. As far as he’s concerned, it really is just him and his mother. And that’s fine with him. 

He drags the chair to the middle of the room along with a smaller stool for himself as Mother takes off her shawl, humming to herself as she picks up a hairbrush. She’s moving too slowly, and Louis is itching to get back to their conversation - desperate to just get it over with so he can ask the question he’s been wanting to ask for so long. 

Mother lets out a startled shriek when Louis appears next to her, urging her to come and sit down. He plops down on his own stool and grabs her hand, beginning to sing as fast as he can. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse -”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mother says, running the brush through Louis’ hair hastily as he continues. “Darling, slow -”

“Bring back what once was mine,” Louis sings, ignoring her protests. His hair is glowing, lifting into the air like a living breathing being. And across the room, random knick knacks and objects rise into the air, levitated by Louis just for fun. Healing isn’t his only ability, after all, but it all only works with the right song - this song. “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates' design, save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine.” 

Even when singing quickly, the effects are still immediate. Mother’s hair grows more vibrant and darker, skin smoothing out and color returning to her cheeks. No wrinkles in sight.

“Okay, done!” Louis says, jumping up. Mother is gawking at him, hairbrush still gripped in her hand. He holds his hand out to help her up, grinning widely. 

“Louis!” she exclaims, ignoring his offered hand and getting up. “What was that?” 

He ignores her, nervousness returning. “Like I’ve been saying, a week from today is a really special day and you didn’t really respond so I’m just going to tell you! It’s my birthday!” He smiles and holds his hands up, bouncing up on his toes. 

However, his mother just frowns. “No, no, it can’t be. I distinctly remember your birthday being _last_ year!” 

Louis laughs awkwardly. “That’s the funny thing about birthdays, Mother. They’re kind of an annual thing. And I’m turning nineteen this year and I know that’s not a particularly special number or anything but I just really wanted to ask… What I want for my birthday this year, and what I’ve actually wanted for _quite_ a few birthdays now.” His voice dips into a murmur as he reaches a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. 

“Darling, please stop with the mumbling. You know how I feel about it. Blah, blah, blah - it’s very annoying!” She sees Louis’ pale face and laughs loudly. “Oh, I’m just teasing, dear. I love you so much,” she says, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “But speak up and be clear before I fall asleep!”

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” Louis says, clearing his throat. _No more stalling,_ he tells himself. So he takes a deep breath and just says it. “What I want for my birthday this year is to see the floating lights.” 

Mother arches a brow, confusion etched across her face. “What?” 

Taking a deep breath, Louis gets up and walks to the fireplace, pulling the drape that hangs above it to the side to reveal his favorite painting he’s ever done. It shows the night sky and a painted version of Louis sitting on a tree, looking up at the hundreds of glowing lights filling the sky. The same sight he’s seen every year on the same day since he was young. “Well, I was hoping _you_ could take me to see them,” he explains. 

“Oh, you mean the stars!” Mother says, laughing. “Darling, you can see those from out the window. I don’t have to take you anywhere.” 

“That’s the thing, though. See, I’ve _charted_ stars. You brought me all those maps of the constellations, remember? But these,” he says, turning to look at the painting again as a soft smile unfurls across his lips. “These are _different._ They appear only once a year, Mother. Every year on _my_ birthday. _Only_ on my birthday. And I can't help but feel that they're - that they're meant for me. I need to see them. In person.” He turns to look at her earnestly, wincing at the frown on her face, no hints of the acceptance he was hoping for in her expression.

When she speaks, her voice is calm and even, but there’s an edge in it that has Louis shrinking in on himself. “Louis, are you telling me you want to go _outside?”_

“I… only for this trip,” Louis says, folding his hands together and ducking his head. 

The laugh Mother lets out this time is a lot more harsh than teasing. “Darling, you have to be joking. Look at you - fragile as a flower. Nothing more than a little sapling, a sprout.”

He flinches when a hand grips his chin, pulling his head up to look Mother in the eyes. Hers are scorching, grim with resignation. 

“You know why we stay in this tower,” she says sternly. 

“Yes, I know,” Louis swallows. “But -”

“The outside world is a dangerous, dangerous place,” she interrupts, volume rising. “It’s safe here in this tower - this tower that I built with my own two hands. But if you left it - if you went _outside_ and were at the mercy of the terrors that exist in the world…” She trails off, shaking her head. “It’d be disastrous. There’s too many bad things out there, Louis. You know that. Too many bad _people._ Believe me when I say you wouldn’t last a day.” 

“But you’d be with me!” Louis presses, unable to help trying one last time. “You’d be with me for protection. And, um, I don’t think I’d be quite as useless in the outside world as you think, Mother… I know things about poison ivy and quicksand and other dangerous things. I’ve _read_ about them. And I think that together we’d be able to handle anything bad.” 

“Louis,” Mother says with a ragged sigh. “Darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but none of those things will help you. You’ve been in this tower your whole life - you wouldn’t last a _day_ in the outside world, even with my help. It’s dark out there, jewel. And you, quite frankly, would be useless to survive it. That’s why you should never leave this tower, pet.” 

“I… oh,” Louis says, swallowing. He didn’t expect the words to bite so much, but ‘useless’ echoes in his mind, cutting into his heart and mind and making him slump. “But…”

“Oh, darling, stop looking like I went and kicked you,” Mother says, shaking her head. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy. I’m just being honest with you, darling. I know you, remember?” 

Behind her, Pascal raises one curled fist, trying to tell him to keep pushing. But Louis has already given up, fight draining out of him with a defeated sigh. “You’re right,” he says. 

“I’m really not trying to be cruel, darling,” Mother says, taking his hands into hers and holding them gently. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Nothing would ruin me more than losing you. You are my most precious treasure, darling. And I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” he says softly, burying his face in her shoulder when she pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, dear. You’re just a little sapling, remember? But luckily you have me to make sure you don’t get in over your head,” she soothes, squeezing him tight. “You can ask for something else for your birthday. Do you want new paints, dear? Some more books?”

“Whatever you want to get me,” Louis says, voice low and eyes squeezed shut. His disappointment curls into his gut, hollowing in his throat. But he tamps it down. His mother truly does know best for him, after all. And she’s right. She’s always right. 

“You do love your books,” Mother says, detaching from him to walk towards his bookcase and run her fingers over the rows of dusty books, some new and some old. They stop on a familiar violet cover and Louis flinches, having forgotten he left it there. She picks up the well-loved spine and wrinkles her nose. “Oh God, don’t tell me you still read this. Really, darling? So many better things to spend your time with.”

Most of the books Louis reads describe practical things - things like flowers and herbs and sewing and stars. And he loves them all dearly… However, there is one book that he loves the most, and it’s different from the rest. 

It’s a book of _fairy-tales._ Fantastical stories of princes and dragons and curses and true love’s kisses. Louis keeps the worn book under his bed where he can pull it out to reread his favorite lines whenever he needs the comfort.

Mother always scoffs when she sees him read it. It had been one of the books she brought back to Louis when he was nothing but a child, young and curious, but ten years past and Louis is still entranced by every tale.

“You can read that nonsense if you so please,” she always says. “Just remember that the most important thing about fairy tales is that they’re not _real.”_

So Louis bites his tongue and nods. “I’ll put it away,” he says placatingly, taking it out of her hands gently and setting on the dresser. 

“Good. Now, help me put all this food away, darling. You need to do the washing and help me pack so I can leave bright and early tomorrow,” Mother says, picking up the bag filled with fruit and nuts from earlier. 

“Wait, tomorrow morning?” Louis asks, words sinking in. His brows draw together. “You’re leaving again already?” 

He knows his mother can’t exactly help it - they need food and water and other items that she needs to travel far and wide to get. She’s constantly risking her life in the outside world to help them both survive and Louis is _so_ grateful. He just sometimes wished that he could spend more time with her. Pascal is lovely but there’s only so much he can do - besides, having one friend gets lonely. And this is his _mother._ Louis just wants to spend more time with her. 

They been here together in the tower for nineteen years, safe from the dangers of the outside world. Nineteen years together and Louis still barely knows her. She may say that she knows him inside and out, but he’s entirely clueless about her. But he doesn’t want to be - he wants them to be close, to learn everything he can about this woman and her story. 

“Yes, darling, I need to go down to Serpentia,” she says, shuddering. “I need to check on poor Reina.” Reina is Mother’s older sister, and Louis has never met her in person, but he's heard plenty of stories from Mother about how she’s forced to live by the sea in the reach of serpents and other sea monsters. 

The trip is undoubtedly dangerous and Louis finds his mother very brave for always making the journey to visit her. However, it takes four days total of rigorous travel just to get there. “Wait, so you won’t be back by my birthday?” he asks, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. First they argue and now she’s leaving him for over a week and missing his birthday all together? 

“Oh, jewel, I’m sorry,” she says, giving him a remorseful face. “But you know how these things go. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can, I promise. And when I do, we can celebrate your birthday for real.” 

He opens his mouth and then shuts it, heart falling. He’ll be spending his birthday alone. “Okay,” he murmurs eventually, ducking his head. There’s no point fighting it. She’ll leave no matter how much he pleads. 

“Are you upset with me?” Mother asks, lips pulling down into a sad pout. 

“Of course not,” Louis says, tamping down his sadness and going over to take the bag from her and wincing at the weight. “I’ll just miss you.” 

“And I’ll miss you, darling,” his mother coos. “Now, come. We have a lot to do tonight.”

Louis ignores Pascal’s pitying gaze as he follows her to the kitchen, pushing down unresolved feelings and thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking. _Mother knows best,_ he reminds himself. It’s the way it’s always been and it’s the way it’ll always be. 

Tomorrow morning, Louis watches his mother leave their safe haven and disappear into the outside world, leaving him all alone again. 

-

Rays of the rising sun filter in through the thick canopy of trees, painting the land with rays of light. With such natural beauty, it’s easy to see why the old King Der Sonne chose the name Chrysó Dásos - the Gold Forest. It’s considered one of the most gorgeous parts of the kingdom and it’s the first time Harry’s seen the natural phenomenon in person. 

It’s the first time he’s seen it in person, and the forest itself is the furthest from being on his mind. 

The roar of a stallion erupts from the trees behind him, followed by a cacophony of hollers. His devoted followers, he notes amusedly. The chaos sounds distant, but it only spurs him on faster. Adrenaline burns in his blood, dripping through to his veins and his aching muscles. He’s been chased for days now, and if he didn’t despise Liam Payne with every fiber in his being, he’d be impressed by the bastard’s persistence. 

Halfway across the kingdom. That’s how far he’s been hunted - stalked from the Capital gates through the plains to the heart of Corona here in this very forest. Three days and three nights of close calls, constant alertness, and little rest. He’s _exhausted_ , weariness settled deep in his bones, but still he runs. 

If there’s one thing Harry knows better than stealing, it’s running. He’s been running his entire life, and the journey’s only just begun. 

Branches and twigs tear at his clothes as he tears through the barrage of pine trees, heart hammering in his chest and breaths ragged. Time flits by in a stream of green and bark, but he runs and runs. 

The sky is streaked pink and yellow by the time the thunder of hooves from Payne and his men’s horses has faded, nothing but his own harsh pants and the rustling of leaves echoing out loud in the silent forest. Harry’s well and truly lost them - it’s almost too good to be true. 

He continues to run anyway, survival instincts preventing him from slowing too much. The more distance he puts between himself and those royal violet and gold banners, the better. His satchel slaps against his ribs with every step but he doesn’t pause to adjust it, almost grateful for the constant reminder that it’s still there - that what lays inside, swaddled in his softest shirt, is still there and intact. 

It’s the crowning jewel of his escapades, the triumph of the biggest heist Harry’s ever pulled off, and the most valuable item he’s ever been in possession of. 

Most importantly, it’s his way _out._

Harry finds it almost crazy to think that it’s been less than a month since the plan had gone together. A month since he contacted George and Stud and they got to work carving out a plan. A month of staking out the Royal Museum of Corona, eyeing the lot where the future setup would be unveiled. 

_A week-long exclusive exhibit,_ the beer-stained and crumpled newspaper Harry found at Urma’s Inn had detailed. _Thanks to the generosity and kindness of our beloved King and Queen, for a limited time only, the Royal Museum of Corona will be displaying something no Coronian will want to miss._

Something Harry knew he wouldn’t want to miss either. One of the most priceless and precious artifacts in all Coronian history, passed from generation to generation and worn on royal heads for centuries. The couronné de soleil - the sun crown. 

It’s the crown worn by the Coronian heir and it’s never left the castle. A wreath of gold inlaid with jewels of amethyst, emeralds, and three Coronian diamonds. And for the first time in centuries, it’s been nearly three decades since it has been placed on a royal head. 

Because for the first time in centuries, Corona is without an heir. Not a day goes by that Harry’s reminded of it, forced to endure the topic. Whispers and curses and tears and confusion and panic and anger. Not a day goes by that Harry doesn’t hear the same two damned words. 

_Lost prince._

Not for long, he thinks. Because soon even the Sun Prince will vanish from his mind like a distant memory, just as he vanished from the castle close to nineteen years ago. Because Harry is getting _out._

He obviously can’t sell the crown here in Corona, but there’s a world beyond the kingdom waiting to be seen - Saporia, Opavan, Nerova, and beyond. Someone somewhere would gladly pay a hefty sum for so much Coronian gold, and he’ll find them eventually. A price large enough that Harry won’t have to run ever again. 

This crown is his reclamation, his saving grace. 

So he’ll run for it. He’ll run until his feet are tender and bloody and his lungs are raw and shrunken, because for once in his life, there’s hope he can finally be in a place where he can finally _rest._

An hour goes by before he even thinks about stopping. The trees haven’t thinned at all, a dense mass of green surrounding him. The sun may have been guiding him when he began but it’s begun to dwindle, gold waning in favor of dusty pink and orange bleeding into hazy blue. The stars are beginning to peek out too, and the bright crescent of the moon glows near the horizon, waiting patiently to take the throne. 

However, it’s the sharp pangs of hunger throbbing in his stomach that convince him to take a break. He stumbles to a stop, immediately keeling over as the energy he’s burned off finally catches up with him, shoulders caving in and body slumping. 

He’s hungry and tired, but most importantly, he’s _safe._

Wiping the sweat off his brow, he yanks his satchel off his body, twisting until his back cracks and he sighs in relief. He leans up against a tree, head tipping back to lean on the bark, heart rate finally getting some mercy. 

A quick check in his bag has him grimacing. All he has left to eat is a bruised apple that’s days old, a stale chunk of bread that’s hard as a rock, and half a canteen of water. He gulps that down first, quenching the dryness in his throat. 

The apple is next and he scarfs it down with greedy bites, but it’s hardly enough to satisfy his aching stomach. It’s been three days since he’s eaten a good meal and though he’s used to small rations, it doesn’t mean it gets any easier. He didn’t even bother with the bread, already scanning his surroundings for something to eat. However, there’s nothing around but trees and stones. 

Sighing in frustration, he wanders across the clearing where a curtain of green leaves hangs over a rocky overhang. It looks like the sort of natural shelter that’ll be perfect for him to set up camp tonight - shady and hidden. Having a rest day after the exertion and exhaustion of the past week seems deserved, even if his pursuers are still on the chase. Harry knows better than to let them push him so far that he ends up burning out, easy prey to Payne. 

He ducks under the leaves and stops short, surprised to see light shining out of a large opening ahead of him. So it’s not quite a shelter, he reasons, but it’s still hidden. Curious, he approaches the gap, and then gapes. 

Before him, an entire hidden world awaits. 

The steady patter of water breaks him out of his reverie, and he takes in the small waterfall spilling out from the massive sandy rock outcroppings, eyes skimming over the green meadow in front of him, a clear stream coursing through it. It’s _gorgeous._

So gorgeous that he almost misses it the first time, blinking quickly as his mind processes the sight. His lips dip into a frown. 

A tower. 

There’s a tower nestled back near the rocks, tall and slim and _old._ It’s almost completely covered in vines, the barest hints of pale stone showing through when Harry squints at it. His feet are moving before he can even register it, the prospect of either someone living there who can provide some resources or help, or it being an abandoned shelter which he can lay low in equally ideal. 

It becomes abundantly clear as he stops before the wall that there doesn’t seem to be an obvious entrance anywhere. When he cranes his head up, he can see a window with shutters that are open to the air, but walking around the circumference proves fruitless. 

Biting his lip, he weighs his options. He could camp out anywhere in this hidden nook - it’s safe and isolated and he thinks he can spy some safe berries by the stream that he could eat later. But there’s an open window many meters above him and two arrows from a futile capture attempt in his satchel.

He tests one out, puncturing through the worn stone of the wall ahead of him and checking the sturdiness. It seems feasible, he reasons, that he could climb his way up to that window and get inside. The idea of someone living here in a tower without a door is becoming more and more unlikely, and Harry is becoming more and more tempted with the idea of an abandoned place to hide. Who knows, he could even _stay_ there for a while. 

So he checks to make sure his satchel is secure around his middle and begins climbing, piercing the next arrow through the stone a little higher and gathering his strength to heave himself up. 

It’s risky, he knows that. But he’s a thief - he doesn’t let opportunities like this slip out the window.

 _If someone lives here, I won’t steal anything,_ he decides. Anyone who lived this far out from civilization and in a tower this isolated isn’t the type of person Harry’d willingly loot. Desperation has gotten him to do many things, but it’ll never make him steal from someone like him - from one of his own. 

Even though running had mostly drained the strength from his legs and not his arms, he still moves slowly, not wanting to run out of energy and fall to his death. He does his best not to look down either, blood rushing to his ears as he strains his head up, eyes fixed on that window above him. 

Harry’s fingers are raw and trembling by the time he reaches the apron of the window - the part that juts out. He exhales shakily, slinging a sore arm over the side and channeling all his remaining strength into pulling himself up and over. He practically falls through the window, legs buckling under him as he slumps into the ground. 

Breathing harshly, he lets himself have a minute to recover before staggering to his feet and turning to close the shutters. 

The pads of his fingers barely brush over the chipped paint before something hard collides with the back of his head. He lets out a choked gasp, pain erupting in his temples and vision blurring. He trips over his feet, careening toward the floor as everything goes black. 

-

Pascal squeaks in alarm and Louis freezes, holding the frying pan he had grabbed in panic out in front of him protectively while his heart leaps to his throat. Shoulders raised nervously, he waits. 

However, his hit must’ve been pretty strong because a minute goes by and the human - the _man_ \- doesn’t stir. His lips are parted, eyes shut and muscles slack where he lays with his front pressed to the rug Louis’ mother brought back from the Devil’s Market years ago. 

Gathering his courage, Louis takes a step forward, raising the pan higher as his heart thunders in his ears. 

_Monster,_ his brain is screaming, the urge to flee growing with every beat of his quickened heart. Stomach churning nervously, Louis surveys the demon’s unconscious body, trailing his eyes over tousled dark hair and pale skin on the exposed nape of his neck. The man is wearing a brown jacket, worn with use and torn in several places. On his hand, Louis can see a collection of rings, not unlike the kind his mother brings back from her travels, though the stranger’s are layered with grime. 

He continues his observation, cautiously taking another step forward and sucking in a breath when the floorboard creaks underneath his feet. The man remains motionless so Louis tamps down the lump in his throat, feeling unsettled by a number of realizations. The first is that this man looks rather harmless. 

Louis knows that outward appearances hardly constitute one’s true intentions, but Mother always spoke of ghastly beings - of bony hands and flashing eyes and sharp teeth. 

Grimacing, he carefully reaches out and nudges the man’s head, stiffening when it lolls back, revealing the side of his face and the line of his jaw. He looks peaceful lying there, almost as if he were asleep. _Nothing like a monster,_ Louis notes suspiciously. 

Still, he turns the pan over so the handle is pointing out and uses it to prod at the man’s mouth, stretching his upper lip to reveal two rows of teeth, not a single one of them sporting any semblance of a sharpened tip. 

Pascal scampers up beside Louis, tilting his head in curiosity. 

“Maybe the fangs only appear when he’s hungry?” Louis guesses, mind flashing to a book he had read once detailing creatures of the night with fanged teeth and a hunger for blood. He shudders. “Okay, he can’t stay here. He’s going to wake up.” 

As if on cue, the man shifts against the floor, letting out a grunt. It’s deep and loud and unfamiliar and Louis panics, grip tightening on the pan before he lands another hit on the back of the man’s head. 

He slumps forward, limbs falling lax once again, and Louis sighs in relief. 

“What do I do with him?” he asks Pascal, lowering his voice to a whisper to avoid any further incidents. 

The chameleon flicks his tail out as if to say: _How should I know?_

Louis glances around the room, searching for something that will give him a clue as to what to do next. Outside, the sky is painted in burnished yellows and pinks, sun fading out into late evening. Even if she’s not actually going away for a month like she threatened, Mother won’t be back for a _while,_ but Louis really doesn’t want to rely on blows from a frying pan and sitting vigil over this potentially-monstrous man until she returns and can take charge. That’s what she’d expect anyway - for him to be helpless and weak in a situation like this. 

His eyes land on his closet, painted teal with a plethora of daisies and other flowers and plants from his book. He glances back at the stranger, mentally comparing the heights and sizes to see if the idea forming in his brain is plausible. 

With a small nod to himself, he carefully backs away from the man, keeping his eyes on him and the frying pan extended as he moves towards the closet. It’s only inevitable since he’s facing the other way that his back bumps into the wood, but he still jumps, heart pounding. 

“Get it together, Louis,” he scolds himself quietly. Pascal snickers at him and he shoots the creature a glare. He fumbles with the knob while trying to keep his gaze fixed on the stranger, succeeding in opening the door. Thankfully, Louis doesn’t have many clothes, but it’s still a struggle to keep watch as he pulls sweaters, trousers, nightgowns, and more from the cupboard, flinging them haphazardly to the side in a heap. 

When the space is finally empty, he takes a deep breath, putting his free hand on his hip as he looks between the closet and the giant, musing over what the best course of action would be at this point. In the end, there’s not really much he can do except try. 

Reluctantly, he abandons the frying pan but sets it in near lunging distance, before approaching the man with his head held high. 

He remembers his mother’s words about him being too weak to take care of himself and frowns, taking another deep breath. He’ll show her! He can handle a man! 

Channeling all his strength, he curls his fingers into the fabric of the man’s jacket and pulls. It only takes him a few seconds to realize that this method isn’t going to work and that the person is heavier than he thought, and he lets go, already seeking a better place to get some purchase. 

He curls his arms under the man’s armpits, ignoring the dirt on his clothes that’s already spreading to Louis’ clean tunic before gritting his teeth and tugging with all his might. His arms burn, but he manages to pull the man up, staggering back when the weight settles over him, unfamiliar and solid. 

Pascal is absolutely no help, watching him with amusement in his eyes as Louis flounders for control, stuck between not wanting to get suffocated by the man’s weight and trying to walk him back towards the closet. It doesn’t help that he keeps tripping over his hair - he really should have tied it up before attempting to do this, but pausing now would be impossible. 

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to make it, breaths coming out in short pants and skin slick with sweat by the time he reaches the closet. He practically shoves the body into the door, heaving for breath. 

He’s unused to this kind of physical exertion, unsteady at the feeling of blood pumping through his veins and his lungs contracting as they fight for air. But he still did it, he reminds himself. And he can keep going - he can handle it. 

The confidence falters a bit when he realizes there’s about four inches between the bottom of the closet and the ground, meaning he has to somehow push the man _up_ and into the space. 

“I can do this,” he tells himself, repeating it mentally as he shakes his arms to get the feeling back in them before digging his fingers into the man’s hips and hoisting him up, putting his whole body into it. A strangled noise works its way up his throat when he succeeds in shoving the man up and inside the cupboard. He scrambles for the handles, hurrying to close the doors before the man comes falling back out and nearly succeeds, but the flimsy wooden doors aren’t enough to counter gravity. 

“No, no, no!” Louis rushes, resorting to using his body to keep the doors shut, pressing his toes into the floor as hard as he can as he strains back against the bursting closet. He glances at Pascal, eyes widening in a plea for help. 

Pascal tilts his head again, letting out a small hiss that Louis interprets as confusion. He sighs, gritting his teeth and pushing back harder, knowing he can’t hold it closed forever. He whips his head around to find something to help him, humming the familiar lyrics under his breath and using the magic to yank the nearest chair over to him. 

Louis uses it as leverage, slamming back into the doors as hard as he can before whirling around and using the top of the chair to fit under the knobs, keeping them from moving apart. He waits in bated breath to see if it holds, hands held out in preparation. 

A minute passes and the chair holds steady. He lets out a sigh of relief, wiping his forehead with a trembling hand. Despite his apparent success, he moves another chair and one of his old paint caddies against the closet for extra support. 

Then he stumbles back from the closet, head tipping back in relief. Pascal does his version of a cheer, jumping up and down where he’s perched himself on Louis’ dresser. 

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Louis says sarcastically. He sounds breathless though, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. His eyes fall to his abandoned frying pan and he doesn’t hesitate to grab it again, feeling safer with the unconventional weapon in his grasp. 

Now that the adrenaline is quickly draining, Louis takes the time to process everything that’s just happened. He just shoved a man in his closet, for God’s sake. 

“I have a person in my closet,” he says out loud, disbelief rising in his chest. He glances at Pascal who eyes him warily. “I’ve got a person in my closet!”

There is a living breathing _human being_ less than ten feet away from him, broad and tall and _real._ Only the third human he’s ever seen in his entire nearly-nineteen years of living. He turns to the mirror and stares at his reflection, taking in his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and the slightly crazed look in his eyes. 

“Holy shit, I’ve got a _person_ in my _closet,”_ he repeats, much more awed this time. He lets out a startled laugh, feeling close to delirious. There’s so many other things he should be worrying about, he knows, but he can’t help but feel pride swell inside him as he smiles at the mirror - pride at how he _calmly_ and _rationally_ handled the situation. He swings the frying pan with a scoff, “How’s that for not being able to take care of myself, Moth - _ow!”_

The pan makes a vibrating noise when it meets the side of his head and he jumps. Scowling, he slaps a hand over the rapidly swelling bruise that’s forming in its wake. He glares at the skillet, feeling betrayed. 

Rubbing at the spot and hissing in pain, he turns his glare to the reflection of Pascal snickering behind him. “Shut up,” he mutters. 

Pascal seems unbothered, hopping down from the dresser and sauntering towards him. Louis turns back to himself, studying the bump on his head and frowning. It’s still throbbing, the pain spreading to his temples and forming pressure in the nape of his neck. That pan is a lot more lethal than he thought. 

Wondering how long it’ll take for the bruise to heal, he tilts his head and messes with his hair, trying to cover the evidence. However, his eye catches on something glinting. He stills, zoning in on the image of something behind him. The stranger’s satchel. 

He forgot about it during the scuffle, but now the prospects of learning more about this human and where he came here - how he got _here_ \- are too tempting to pass up. It’s a precaution, he tells himself, ignoring the layer of guilt at the idea of rummaging through someone’s belongings. 

The satchel is just as worn as everything else the man had on him, fabric creased and threads running thin in the stitches. He picks it up gingerly, wrinkling his nose at the dirt that dislodges from the bag and dusts the floor. 

It doesn’t take long for him to find what was glinting. Louis’ mouth drops open in shock as he pulls out the circlet, entranced by the golden wreath and the gemstones woven between them. It’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, like something out of a fairy tale. 

To Louis, the idea of a man like that being in possession of something like this is wildly suspicious. 

Unless… he got it from one of his past _victims_ because he truly is a monster, just like Mother guessed. 

A harmless looking monster, he thinks bitterly. Like the poisonous flowers he’s read about in books - they may be gorgeous but they’re _deadly._

This _man_ is potentially deadly. 

Examining the item some more, Louis has an urge to do something with it. Except, he doesn’t know _what._ He doesn’t know what it is, let alone what to do with it, but the sensation persists. It’s peculiarly strong - like his fingers are itching to do it even when he holds himself back. It feels like it goes beyond basic curiosity - it feels like he _has_ to do something. 

Ignoring Pascal’s inquisitive noise, he walks back to the mirror for a better view. He slips the object through his arm first, wondering if it’s a bit like the suede bracelets Mother wears on her wrists. Except it’s much too big, and even though the stranger had thicker arms than Louis, they were still much too small for this unusual item to be a bracelet. Agreeing, Pascal shakes his head lightly. 

Humming curiously, Louis lifts the item and squints at it, trying to figure out what it’s meant to do. The idea comes to him like petals unfurling on a flower of insight he never realized he planted. 

He watches his own reflection and the way his lips part as he raises the object and places it on his head. A shock goes through him and his mouth drops open, entranced by the sight. 

It feels strange - feels _right_. It looks right too, fitting snugly on the crown of his head. That’s when it hits him. 

This is a _crown._

Like the headpieces worn by kings and queens and princes and princesses in the fairy tales Louis has read time and time again. He blinks at the mirror, spinning around for good measure before planting his hands on his hips and turning to where Pascal eyes him critically.

“Do I look like a prince?” he asks, grinning.

Pascal tilts his head. Shakes it.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Brat.” He takes the crown off and turns it over in his hands again, humming to himself. It’s gorgeous, is the thing - easily the prettiest item Louis has ever seen and Louis likes to think he’s seen (and made) a lot of pretty things. 

And it’s a _crown._ From the stories Louis has read, he’s been under the impression that only members of royalty wore such things, and maybe he was being naive but he didn’t think that man carried the air of someone in nobility. 

_Maybe he stole it?_ Louis frowns. 

However he got it, the crown is clearly expensive and clearly valuable. He’s sure the stranger holds it very dear to him… that he wouldn’t want it to be taken away from him. 

Louis bites his lip, glancing at Pascal. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Pascal nods, though he’s probably thinking that Louis is thinking about food - one track mind, that chameleon. Louis was really only asking rhetorically anyway. 

He glances down at the crown and then at the sealed closet door, wisps of a plan forming in his head. 

-

By the time the man begins stirring, Louis has worked out exactly what he’s going to say, pacing the room with his trusty frying pan in one hand and a piece of his hair in the other. He twirls it like he always does when he’s nervous, twisting the strand around his finger as he mutters reminders under his breath.

It had taken nearly ten minutes and lots of singing and levitating for him to wrangle the man out of the closet and onto a chair. He’s tied up securely too, ropes wound around his middle and his arms on the armrests. Louis didn’t take any chances, remembering the book that had a list of the strongest knots you can tie. 

He felt smug in the moment, scoffing at the thought of Mother calling him helpless after he single handedly dealt with the intruder, but his confidence has faded now. 

There’s a human being tied to his chair and eventually he’s going to wake up and Louis will have to instigate his plan. But - _oh God, there’s a human being tied to his chair and eventually he’s going to wake up and Louis will have to instigate his plan -_

So when he sees the man begin to rouse, he freezes in place, pan extending in front of him in panic as his heart thunders in his chest. Unbothered, Pascal scurries up to the chair and then climbs up the leg to jump on the man’s shoulder. 

He’s shifting against the ropes but he’s still not fully conscious, body slumped and breathing even. If anything, he seems to drift off again. Louis just watches, feeling guilty for the relief that begins to rise inside him. 

Except, Pascal is either not good at reading emotions or he’s sick of Louis stalling, because he takes it upon himself to smack the man in the face with his tail. Louis winces, making a ‘cut it out’ gesture with his hand that Pascal acknowledges with a cool look and then continues to smack the stranger. 

Louis sighs, before steeling himself. He’s going to have to talk to him eventually, so might as well get it over with. 

The man doesn’t actually wake up from the assault, but his eyebrows dip in confusion. It’s not until Pascal sticks his tongue out and into his ear that he jerks, eyes flying open and a choked sound falling from his lips. 

Not that Louis sees it, because in a blink of an eye, he’s scrambled to the other side of the room - _behind_ the stranger and out of his sight. 

While he can’t see his face, Louis can still watch the exact moment he realizes he’s been restrained. “What the fuck?” he says and Louis stiffens, the deep voice ringing alarm bells in his head. It suddenly feels much too real. “Where the - what’s going on?” 

Grip tightening on the pan, Louis takes a deep breath. He walks around to the front of the chair very slowly, hoping he appears more confident than he feels right now. 

Stranger is struggling against the ropes, his frown growing. His face is just as confusingly pleasant as Louis remembers - even with the look of annoyance plastered on his features. He hasn’t looked up yet which means he hasn’t seen Louis. “What the fuck is this?”

“Palomar’s knot,” Louis blurts, adjusting his grip on the frying pan. The man freezes, head snapping up. Their eyes meet and Louis notes almost deliriously that the stranger’s eyes are greener than any tree he’s seen. He swallows, pointing the pan out protectively. “It’s tied using a Palomar’s knot.” He hopes the stranger can’t see how sweaty his fingers are and how they’re quivering against the iron.

“What the fuck is going on?” Stranger asks, a furrow forming between his brows as he presses harder against it. “Why am I tied up?”

Louis’ panic grows. He knows the man is heavy, is the thing, which means he’s probably strong and while the Palomar’s knot is the strongest knot in the fishing book he read some months ago, he has no clue if it’ll hold for a human. And if Louis will be able to defend himself if the man gets the upper hand. Somehow he manages to keep his tone even as he says, “It’s pointless to struggle. All you have to do is answer my questions.” 

“What questions? What the fuck is this?” Stranger grits, glaring at him. His eyes aren’t red like Mother said but Louis still takes a step back. 

“I’m asking the questions here,” Louis says, shaking the pan. “Why did you come here?” He doesn’t think the man came here for his hair but he’s not about to assume and face the consequences. His hair - his _magic_ \- is his most special secret, and just thinking about what his mother said… about how there’s evil people who’d do anything to get their hands on his hair and its properties… makes him sick. “If you’re here for me, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“Except, I don’t know what you’re even talking about? Who even are you?” the stranger asks slowly. “And where am I?” He furrows his brows, looking around as he murmurs, “I was running… stopped at this tower…had -” He freezes, face draining of color as his eyes snap back to Louis. “Where’s my satchel?” 

“It’s hidden somewhere you will never find,” Louis dismisses, straightening his back. 

The stranger looks at him briefly before glancing off to the side. He looks back and arches a brow. “It’s in that pot, isn’t it?” 

Louis swallows. One _clang_ of his frying pan and a rushed scramble around his room for a better hiding spot later, Louis gestures for Pascal to work his magic. 

Pascal sighs dramatically, before returning to his perch on the Stranger’s shoulder and waking him up with one flick of his tongue. 

“For Sonne’s sake,” Harry yelps, shaking Pascal off with a violent jerk of his body. _“Disgusting.”_

“I’m only going to ask this one more time,” Louis threatens, tipping the man’s face up with the rim of the pan to his chin. “Who are you?” 

“Okay, relax, psycho,” the man says, tilting his head back and eyeing the pan with uneasiness. “My name is Harry Styles. I’m just passing by. I thought this tower was unoccupied but _clearly,_ I was mistaken, so if you’d just untie me and give me my satchel back…”

“No,” Louis interrupts. _Harry Styles,_ he repeats mentally. Harry sounds like he’s telling the truth about just stumbling across the tower, which means he’s not here because he knows about or wants Louis’ magic. It’s a weight off Louis’ shoulders, especially considering what he plans to do. 

Harry raises both eyebrows. “No? Oh God, are you going to harvest my organs or something?” He squeezes his eyes shut. “This is getting old, universe.” 

“I don’t want your organs,” Louis frowns, confused. What is this stranger even talking about? “But I do want something else.” 

“What do - did you go through my things? I’ll give you the money, but the crown is off-limits,” Harry says firmly. “You’d have to kill me to get it.” 

“I don’t want that either,” Louis says, shaking his head and shuddering at the thought of _killing_. He heads to the fireplace and pulls the string, curtains parting to reveal the painting. He watches Harry take it in, looking surprised but a little impressed. “Do you know what these are?” he asks loudly, pointing to the lights.

“The lantern thing they do for the lost prince?” Harry asks, before scoffing. “I think the entire kingdom knows about those.” 

“Lanterns,” Louis whispers, glancing at the painting and pressing the pad of his finger to the biggest light. He remembers painting it - smudging the orange on accident and having to cover the mess with blue before trying again. “I knew they weren’t stars,” he whispers. _Lanterns._

He snaps out of his daze when Harry once again tries to struggle against the ropes, hands curling into fists and arms flexing. Louis is honestly surprised the bonds have held this long. “Stop that,” he scolds. “And _listen._ In four days time, these lanterns will light up the sky like they do every year. _You -”_ He points for emphasis, “- will act as my guide, take me to see them, and then return me home safely. Then, and _only_ then, will I return your satchel to you. That is my deal.” 

“Yeah…” Harry says after a pause, drawing out the word with a chuckle, “no can do. See, me and Corona aren’t really on good terms right now. In fact, you could say we’ve broken up. And she’s chasing after me with a lot of swords, because she wants me back. But I’m trying to get the hell out of here, actually.” 

“This is your only choice,” Louis says firmly. “You want that crown back?” 

“Look, sweetheart,” Harry starts, shaking his head. “Name your price - seriously. I’m willing to be generous, just don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. I’ll take my crown and we never have to see each other again. Easy peasy.” 

Louis frowns at the term of endearment that sounds condescending dripping from Harry’s lips, stepping closer. “Something brought you here, Harry Styles. Call what you will: fate, _destiny…”_

“Liam Payne,” Harry mutters. 

“And I have made the decision to trust you,” Louis says, ignoring the odd comment. 

“A horrible decision, really,” Harry says, looking amused. “Then again, I’m the one sitting here in ropes with multiple bruises on my head so who am I to say anything about decisions?”

“But trust _me_ when I say,” Louis continues with gritted teeth, “you can tear this tower apart, brick by brick, but without my help, you’re never going to find your precious satchel or your crown.” At Harry’s grimace, he adds more calmly, “The only way I’ll help you is if you help me first.” 

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Harry says after a beat, drawing in a breath. “ _I_ take you to see the lanterns, bring you back home, and you’ll give me back my satchel? And everything inside said satchel? Even the money?” 

“Yes,” Louis nods. “I won’t take anything from you. All you have to do is hold up your end of the deal and I’ll uphold mine.” 

“And - just out of curiosity - why can’t you go yourself?” Harry asks.

“Because I don’t know how to get there,” Louis lies easily, raising an eyebrow. “But you seem to.” 

“Are you sure I can’t give you a map?” Harry winces, looking hopeful. 

“No. Either you take me yourself, or you sit here as my prisoner and suffer the consequences,” Louis says. He doesn’t actually know what he’ll do if Harry refuses but he’s not about to let him know that. 

Harry sighs. “Why do I always get wound up in these sorts of situations?” he asks, eyes squeezing shut. He opens them again and bites his lip. “Okay, _fine.”_

Louis blinks. “Wait, really?” He cringes, clearing his throat. “I mean, uh… smart decision, Styles.” Pascal snickers and Louis reminds himself to scold him later. 

“What the hell is your name?” Harry asks a few minutes later when Louis has untied most of the knots and he can finally stand up. “Unless you want me to keep calling you ‘psycho,’ which is fine by me.” 

After a moment’s hesitation and his mother’s words turning through his head on repeat, Louis answers, “You can call me Blue.” 

-

Harry seems gobsmacked by the pulley system when Louis explains it to him, grumbling something about blisters and rope burn on his hands as he gets situated with his feet in the loop. Gravity does all the work and Harry descends against the tower wall with ease, sending it up for Louis right after. 

Hands gripping the pane of the window, Louis takes a deep breath. He glances at Pascal who makes a hurry-up motion with his hands. “Just one second,” Louis hisses. He checks the bag he had hastily packed, filled with everything he thinks he could need for a journey: a notebook to write down everything he sees, some bandages and medicine from Mother’s cupboard, a shawl for if it gets cold, warm clothes, and a hairbrush. And of course, his trusty pan. 

Swallowing, Louis glances back into the tower and takes in the space he had grown up in for the past nineteen years. It’s _home._ A sudden clenching forms in his heart at the thought of leaving it all behind. 

As if Pascal could sense his hesitation, he scampers up Louis’ arm to headbutt his shoulder - his version of comforting. 

“We can do this,” Louis whispers, before peering out of the window where Harry is waiting with his arms crossed and head tilted up. It’s too far down to see the exact expression on his face but Louis knows it’s an expression of impatience without having to look. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

He pulls himself up and onto the window, grabbing the rope with both hands. Then he sticks his foot through the hold, toes curling uncomfortably. For the first time in a long time, Louis is wearing _shoes._ He’s never been anything but barefoot but Harry informed him that with the route they’re taking, he’s going to want some protection for his feet. 

So Louis borrowed a pair of his Mother’s shoes. They don’t fit quite right and the leather feels foreign against his soles but he figures he’ll get used to it. He ignores the feeling for now, wiggling his foot to make sure it’s secure before doing the other one. 

Then he carefully scoots to the edge of the pane, swallowing nervously when he makes the mistake of looking down and seeing the sheer distance from here to the ground. 

“You can do this,” he tells himself firmly. “Mother thinks you won’t be able to take care of yourself. Don’t prove her right on day _one.”_

Mother is also going to be _livid_ when she returns. Harry told him that though they’d have to make the journey to the capital by foot, there're plenty of places in the city to borrow horses for the way back, cutting the travel time in half. With that in mind, Louis _should_ be back before Mother returns from Serpentia, but he still wrote out a lengthy note and left it on the kitchen table just in case she managed to beat them back and found Louis missing. 

Though, the idea of Mother returning first and realizing what Louis did is terrifying, he just couldn’t stomach the idea of her not knowing where he was or if he was okay, imagining her devastated face and feeling nauseous. 

She’s going to be furious either way, but Louis decides that that is a dilemma for his future self to handle, and he’s going to make the most of it until then. This is everything he’s wanted for close to ten years. This is his _dream,_ and it’s finally coming true. 

“Hurry up, Blue!” a deep voice calls out, yanking him out of his thoughts. 

Louis glances down to see Harry cupping his hands around his mouth, tapping his foot. “I’m coming!” he yells, and before he can make himself overthink it, he pushes off the side of the tower and lets go. 

His hair whips around him as he falls towards the earth, eyes squeezed shut and hands curled so tightly around the rope that he’s sure there’ll be imprints when he finally lets go. He doesn’t realize that he's made it to the ground or that he’s screaming out loud until Harry says annoyedly, “Stop it!” 

Very slowly, Louis opens his eyes. He takes in Harry’s frowning face next before carefully looking down. The pulley works so that it stops a foot before the grass, letting the user jump down the remaining distance. It means that Louis is now hovering closer to the ground than he’s been his entire life. 

Below him, he can see the grass. It’s not like he’s never seen grass before, but he’s never seen it this close. Close enough to _touch._ It suddenly all feels very intimidating. He’s outside his tower - he’s _outside._

“You going to come down anytime this century?” Harry arches a brow. With the twelve extra inches of height, Louis is still only a smidge taller than him. He wonders if all humans are this tall or Harry is an exception. 

“Just… taking my time,” Louis says, reluctantly pulling his right foot from the loop. Pascal, who doesn’t have the same hesitation, peeks out of his bag and then hops down himself. Louis lowers his foot slowly, heart caught in his throat. The moment his heel meets solid ground, he shudders. It feels _strange -_ but not an entirely bad strange. 

With Harry’s eyes on him, he hurries and steps fully off the rope, clearing his throat as he glances up at the window he was peering out of just minutes before. “I guess we’ll have to leave this hanging here,” he says slowly, frowning. “There’s no one to pull it back up.” 

“Right, so... can we go?” Harry asks, gesturing to the distance where the cave that he’s watched his Mother walk through and disappear countless times before. 

“Yeah, just… one second,” Louis murmurs. He takes a step forward, ignoring Harry’s confused look. Then he holds his arms out, feeling a slight breeze brush past his fingers. And finally he lets himself look around.

He takes in the grass, the trees, and then tilts his head back to look at the sky - so wide and so blue above him. Before he realizes it, he’s grinning. A happy and disbelieving grin because _holy shit, he’s actually outside._ This is fresh air he’s breathing in, grass he’s standing on - Louis is outside!

Laughing out loud, he starts spinning. Any thoughts about Mother, about Harry, and about anything other than the pure joy he’s feeling fall away. He’s so caught up in his happiness that he accidentally trips over his own feet, flailing and giggling as he hits the grass. It doesn’t hurt too much, thankfully, and Louis takes the moment to stretch out against the grass - to feel and breathe and _savor._

“Hang on,” Harry says after a minute, disrupting Louis’ giddy enjoyment. He sounds confused as he continues, “You’re acting like… is this your first time outside of that tower?” 

“Yes,” Louis answers, eyes fluttering shut as he spreads his arms out to either side, feeling the prickles of grass against the palms of his hands. 

“Are you serious?” Harry asks, sounding baffled. “You’ve never been outside?” 

“Nope,” Louis hums, grinning so widely that he can feel his eyes crinkle. “The pulley is there for my mother. This is the first time I’ve used it.” 

“What on earth have I gotten myself into?” he hears Harry mutter, but even his presence isn’t enough to diminish the excitement and eagerness that’s bloomed inside him. He stumbles to his feet, looking around at the haven that he’s seen his entire life through the window but has never gotten the chance to experience. 

He doesn’t even know where to begin. 

Before Harry can protest, Louis is running. He runs for the stream first, falling to his knees and reaching out to place a hand flat on the water. It’s cold but Louis barely notices the chill, peering down through the clear depths to see the sand and rocks on the underwater ground.

His mind is running with _first time._ Every new thing he sees and does from now on is completely new. He left his tower. He left his tower and the rest of his life begins _now._

“Okay, seriously, are we planning on leaving any time soon?” Harry asks, startling Louis. “Because if so, we need to leave now. It’s almost noon.” 

Louis stands up again, figuring that Harry knows what he’s talking about more than he does. “Okay, let’s go.” Another first, he thinks happily. 

However, he slows when they reach the entrance to the cave. Though his view from the tower window allows him to see pretty far, it’s limited to the land before the grotto that he’s watched his mother disappear through countless times. This cave is the final barrier between everything Louis has ever known and everything he doesn’t. 

“It’s not that dark in there,” Harry says, undoubtedly assuming that Louis is scared rather than nervous. He has no idea what a big deal this is. 

Or… maybe it’s not a big deal. This is just one stepping stone to the entire journey that lays before them. “This is not a big deal,” he says out loud, trying to convince himself. 

Pascal sticks his head from his rucksack and squeaks in agreement and encouragement. 

Ignoring Harry’s impatient look, Louis holds his head up high and marches straight into the cave. Harry follows behind with an almost amused expression. He was right, it’s close to pitch black in here, but he can see the light peeking in from the other side so he focuses on that, eyes slowly adjusting.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he shrieks, arm swinging out and hitting something firm. 

_“Ow,_ what the fuck?” Harry groans, releasing him in favor of pressing a hand to his assaulted abdomen. “I was just going to tell you to watch your step! There’s a stalagmite right there.” 

Louis glances down, feeling grateful for the cover of the darkness as his cheeks color in embarrassment. Sure enough there’s a sharp rock pointing up like a spear from the ground. 

“Sorry,” he says, hurrying ahead. When he re-enters the light, he lets out a sigh of relief and revels in the knowledge that he did it. He actually did it. 

He glances back into the cave and then out around them, trees going on for ages in the distance. No tower - everything is new. 

“I can’t believe I did this!” he exclaims gleefully. He left his tower. Not only that, but he left the meadow. He’s on his way to see the floating lights - _lanterns._ If only Mother could see him now… Mother. He grimaces, raising his hands to his cheeks. “Oh God, I can’t believe I did this.” 

And now that he’s actually paused to think this through, the panic is festering inside him, clawing up his throat and filling his mouth. He _left_ the tower. “What was I thinking? Mother will be furious! God, what if I don’t even see her again? What if she was right and I can’t survive this? Oh God, oh God.” 

“Uh,” Harry says, but Louis ignores him, beginning to pace across the clearing. 

“It’s just seven days,” he tells himself rationally. “Seven days in which _anything_ could happen, great. But I can handle it. I’m _smart,_ for Sonne’s sake. I can do this. And when Mother realizes she was wrong about me, she won’t be mad. She might even be impressed.” 

“So, are we going to go now or -”

“But what if I _can’t_ do this,” Louis frets, running his hands through his hair. “What if I’m eaten by bears or I drown in quicksand or something else terrible. She’ll be heartbroken!”

“Uh, Blue?” Harry says, appearing right next to Louis and making him shriek again. 

“Stop doing that!” Louis complains, smacking him in the side as he waits for his heart rate to ease. Maybe he’s just not used to not being alone… that, and he’s pretty sure Harry Styles is just rude. No one should sneak up on anyone, in his humble opinion. 

“Do you always talk to yourself like this?” Harry asks. 

Louis blinks, pouting. “I’m not talking to myself,” he denies, patting his rucksack. “Pascal is listening.” 

Harry stares at him. “Right.” He leans against the nearest tree, crossing his arms. “So I can’t help but notice you seem to be a little conflicted by all this…”

Pascal snorts. 

“I don’t know the full story but from what I can tell… basically, this is your first time out of the tower. Your mother is overprotective and would be pissed if she knew but you want to go anyway. Or… you think you do?” 

“I want to see the lights,” Louis says firmly. He shouldn’t have panicked like that in front of Harry, not when technically Harry is only doing this because Louis has something he wants. Already, he’s scoping out Louis’ vulnerabilities and that’s dangerous. So he pushes down the doubt and worries, and steels himself. “I was just having a momentary lapse of judgement but I’m fine now. Let’s go.”

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Harry says, shrugging. He hums, a smile spreading across his lips. “Actually… once we get out of the forest, I know a great inn we can stay the night before heading for the Capital. I was just there a few days ago, actually. I know the owner, he loves me.” 

“An inn?” Louis asks, sounding out the unfamiliar word carefully. 

“Yeah, like… a place for travelers to stop and stay for a bit. There’s food and water and rooms,” Harry explains, seeing his confusion. “And this one is the perfect one for you to see what the outside world is like.”

“It’s… safe?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 

Harry smirks, pushing off from the tree and beginning to walk. “It’s _very_ safe.” 

-

Louis learns quickly that Harry doesn’t like to talk very much. They spend the next few hours walking through the dense forest, Harry in front and leading the way with Louis following behind more hesitantly, eyes perpetually scanning his surroundings to take in new sights. He becomes very familiar with Harry’s irritated sigh whenever he stops to study something which to be fair, is quite a lot. 

He can’t help it though, everywhere he looks is something new. And he has to see it _all._ He trails fingers over the bark of every tree they pass, memorizing the feel of rough gnarled wood against his softer skin. He inhales the fresh air, pauses to feel the sun over his face, and more. He tries to ask Harry questions, only to be met with moody silence, but even Harry’s lack of friendliness isn’t enough to deter him. Louis feels _alive,_ heart soaring with every step he takes. Even when his legs start aching and his breaths go shorter, energy dulling the longer they walk, he wears a smile on his face. He’s _outside_ and that’s all that matters. 

Pascal seems to share his enthusiasm at first, jumping out from his bag and exploring the new terrain around him, scampering up trunks and camouflaging against the boughs of trees. At one point he reveals himself from a branch hanging above them, snickering when Harry yelps in surprise, stumbling back. Harry spends the next few minutes glaring, Louis is sure, while he spends them covering his giggle. 

However, even past the mischief and thrill of trudging through the unknown, at heart there’s nothing more the chameleon loves than to be lazy, flicking his tail to be picked up by Louis a couple hours later and immediately dozing off back in the safety of Louis’ rucksack. 

So even though Harry won’t answer his questions and ignores his requests to take a break and _though_ he’s surrounded by much more dirt than he’d like, Louis is enjoying himself. He’s on his way to see the lights and as far as he can tell, his guide is completely harmless. Grumpy, but harmless. 

Though he still lets out a breath of relief when the trees start thinning out, the small slivers of sky he had been seeing for miles growing into patches and then a clear expanse. Harry finally breaks his silence to inform him that they’ll be out of the forest in a good thirty minutes and then it won’t be more than an hour till they reach the ‘inn.’ Louis nods, realizing instantly that soon he’ll be seeing even _more_ people than he ever has in his life. 

It sets his heart racing, wondering if they’ll be like how his Mother describes or just as harmless as Harry. By the time they do emerge from the trees, ground flattening out and a trail appearing amongst the dirt. Harry leads him onto it, pulling on a cloak and tugging a hood over his head until all you can see of his face is shadows. 

Louis is curious but doesn’t bother questioning it, knowing Harry wouldn’t answer even if he did ask. Instead, he focuses on the horizon and studies the hints of civilization in the distance, dusky smoke billowing up into the afternoon sky. 

_People,_ he thinks, excitedly but a bit nervously too. 

“We’re almost there,” Harry says a little while later, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. The road has become more and more distinct, sandy ground replaced by dented cobblestones beneath Louis’ feet. “Get ready to meet some very lovely people.” 

_Lovely?_ Louis exhales, reassured by the thought. “I’m excited,” he says. 

“Me too,” Harry says with a chuckle, “very excited.” He falls quiet again, but Louis doesn’t mind, a wave of renewed energy filling his body and adding a bounce to his steps. He starts humming in his excitement, rushing after Harry who’s begun to walk faster. 

They cross over a small hill and Louis finally sees it, a stone structure that looks like it’s seen better days, shingles covered in moss and walls caked in dirt. It lays nestled against the next ridge, balanced precariously against a smattering of trees and standing almost lopsided. A path twists up to a porch, a few horses tied to the wood columns and nibbling on the grass. It’s bigger than Louis expected, which only has him wondering how many people lay inside. 

“There it is,” Harry says, beginning to walk up the path quickly, leaving Louis to hurry after him. “My favorite place in all of Corona!” 

“The Snuggly Duckling Inn,” Louis reads, peering up at the wooden signpost swinging from the post that depicts a small baby duck. It feels like a reassurance so he lets go of any other misgivings and smiles. “That sounds adorable, I love ducklings!”

“Oh, it’s definitely adorable,” Harry says, chuckling. He stops at the step and gestures for Louis to go up first. “We can just walk right in. Garcon is relaxed like that.” 

“Is he the owner that you know?” Louis asks, flinching when Harry slings an arm around his shoulders. The weight is unfamiliar, as is the familiar touch. But he forces himself to relax, exhaling shakily. “I can’t wait to meet him.” 

“Yes, he is,” Harry hums, smirking. “I’m sure the feeling is very mutual.” 

The door is painted a faded red and the doorknob is encrusted with mud. Louis is glad when Harry is the one to reach out and touch it, opening the door with the flourish. Louis lets himself be tugged forward and into the lit room. 

He freezes. 

“Garcon, it’s me!” Harry hollers, but Louis is rooted to the place, eyes wide and heart pounding loudly in his chest as he takes in his surroundings. Over a dozen faces stare at them, all varying levels of threatening. 

Louis swallows, taking in the glint of daggers sheathed at hips and knives clutched in hands. His eyes catch on spiked vests and helmets with sharp horns protruding up like the devil, gleaming and glinting in the dim lighting of the room. He shudders under cold stares, looking around to see big and broad bodies filling up every corner of the room. None of them look friendly - in fact, they reek of his mother’s warnings.

He lets out a squeak when Harry pulls him farther inside, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him echoing in his ears. His nose wrinkles as the smell of something rotten registers in his senses, making him shudder. The heavy weight of gazes on them doesn’t falter as Harry practically yanks him up to the front of the room, and his hands shake as they fumble for his frying pan, the weapon he felt so confident about earlier feeling like a toy now. A burly man behind the desk surveys them with a sneer, whiskers on his upper lip and a hairy chest exposed beneath a leather spiked vest. 

“Hey, Garc,” Harry says cheerfully, as if he’s completely unbothered by the room full of ruffians he just brought Louis into. “Long time, no see.” 

The man stands up slowly, and Louis gulps when he sees the axe clasped in his hand, its sharpened blade glinting in the light. There’s something dark splattered on it and Louis realizes in horror that it’s _blood._ His skin prickles in fear and he hunches in on himself, heart pounding. 

“You shouldn’t have come here,” the man says, voice gravelly and dripping with danger. Louis finds himself crowding closer to Harry, feeling his body heat bleed into his side. His fingers quiver against the handle of his pan. 

Harry just laughs, brushing him off with a wave of a hand. “C’mon, Garcon,” he says dismissively. “I know you missed me.” 

“Styles,” grunts another voice, and Louis nearly shrieks when a man shoves him to the side, hip colliding painfully into the desk. The culprit grips Harry by the collar and immediately throws him against the wall, back hitting the wood with a sickening thud. The flash of pain on Harry’s face lasts only a second before he brushes it off. 

“Vlad,” he says through gritted teeth, surprise bleeding through. Louis gasps when the man - Vlad - curls a hand around Harry’s throat menacingly and stumbles back in terror. “Hey, buddy, didn’t know you’d be here. How’s it going?” 

“How’s it going?” Vlad repeats, fury pouring from his body in waves. “How am I? How am I after you stole all my savings and made off with it in the dead of the night? _How am I?”_ he roars. 

Harry’s chuckle sounds pained, smile strained as he grips Vlad’s arms helplessly, feet leaving the ground as Vlad pushes him harder against the wall. “Right, sorry about that, mate,” he says. “No hard feelings?” 

“I’m going to skin you alive,” Vlad spits, yanking a dagger from his belt and holding it up to Harry’s neck. Louis sucks in a scared breath, flinching when another thug shoves past him and crowds up to Harry, the one eye not covered in a black patch narrowed coldly. 

“You can skin him alive once I cut off his fingers one by one,” he snarls. “He stole my jeweled dagger the same night.” 

“Oh, yeah, she was a beauty,” Harry says, eyes squeezing shut when Vlad presses the blade further into his skin. 

The brute pulls something out of his pocket: a crumpled piece of paper. With a single hand, he smooths it out and then holds it up in front of Harry’s face. “This you?” 

Harry grimaces. “Okay, now they’re just being mean,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “How hard is it to get a nose right?” 

Vlad slaps the paper against the wall, revealing it to the rest of the room. Louis stares at the drawing of Harry, the words **WANTED** and **DEAD OR ALIVE** staring right back at him. He’s not sure what he’s looking at but it doesn’t sound good. “I find it nice that they give us a choice between dead or alive,” Vlad says casually. “And notice there’s no specification for the state of the body we return.”

Another man, this one shorter and stockier than the others, joins them with a wooden club in his hand. “Let me break his bones,” he snaps, tapping the head of his weapon to his hand threateningly. “I’ll cut out your ribs and use them to beat your face in.” 

“Ever so detailed, Edgar,” Harry winces. 

“No we’ll keep your precious face intact,” Vlad says. “The guards will need proof it’s actually you, after all. But I doubt they give a shit about the rest of you. And look at this handsome reward. It’s going to repay every coin you stole from me.” 

The meaning of these men’s words and the flyer finally sink in and Louis gasps. “Wait, hold on, you’re a thief?” he blurts, louder than intended. He thought about the possibility earlier but now it’s confirmed, printed in black and white and everything. “You stole all these people’s stuff?” 

Harry exhales shakily. “Not the time, Blue.” 

Vlad glances at Louis with an arched brow before looking back at Harry with a sneer. “You found some arm candy, Styles? He’s a pretty one, I’ll give you that. Shame that he’s going to have to watch us tear you apart bit by bit.” The other men chuckle, more and more crowding up with weapons raised and lifted. 

Louis sucks in a strangled breath, glancing back at the owner only to see him back in his seat, watching the proceedings with a disinterested gaze. These men are threatening to _kill_ Harry - or to do a whole lot worse. And, he realizes as he looks around to see matching expressions of glee and interest on every face, no one is going to stop them. 

He’s about to watch Harry - the first man he’s ever met and his guide - _die._

“Okay, lads, let’s all try to calm down now,” Harry is saying when he snaps out of his panicked thoughts. “We can try to work something out, yeah?” 

“Like hell, Styles,” Edgar grits. “You’re not running out of this one.” He raises his club and Louis snaps into action, barrelling towards them and ducking under Vlad’s arm to push between him and Harry. 

_“Stop!”_ he yells, heart thundering in his ears. 

They all still. Oh so slowly, Vlad lowers his gaze to Louis, looming over him by at least a foot. Edgar’s club is now pointed at him too. Louis gulps but forces himself to stay steady, his mother’s words ringing through his ears. _Weak, weak, weak._ Louis is not weak. And Louis is seeing the damn lanterns. 

Maybe he can try and get through to them? 

“Look, I know you’re mad at Harry and you have every right to be,” he says slowly, heart pounding. He ignores Harry’s muttered, _“Hey,”_ and continues, “but I have no idea where I am. Harry has been acting as my guide because we made a deal. I need him to take me to see the lanterns because I’ve been dreaming about them my entire life. He made a promise to get me there, so for Sonne’s sake, have some humanity! Let him go.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Vlad says, a glob of spit flying from his mouth and just barely missing the side of Louis’ face. He flinches anyway, confidence wavering and disgust bubbling up his throat. But he pushes it all down. 

“I’m Blue,” he says, voice steady. “And I can’t let you kill Harry.”

The ruffians stare at him in disbelief, but they don’t attack either so Louis slowly gathers the courage to keep going. 

“Haven’t any of you people ever had a dream?” he asks. “Something you want more than anything? That you’d do anything for? Seeing these lanterns is mine. And Harry is the only one who can help me make that dream come true. So _please,_ I’m begging you. Let him go. Violence is never the answer.” 

“It may not be the answer, but it’s a lot better than letting this smug fucker keep his balls,” Vlad grunts. “He deserves to pay for what he did.” Despite his words, he lets go of Harry, allowing him to land back on the floor. 

“Who are you calling a smug fucker?” Harry complains, wincing as he presses a hand to his neck. “Besides, _Vlad,_ half of that money was mine! I haven’t forgotten you took off with all the loot from that heist we did last Spring. You knocked me out and left me in an alley to rot, asshole.” He turns to the one with the eye patch. “And you, Hodge. You grabbed that dagger off a dying man. You _know_ that any loot stolen without honor is up for grabs to everyone. I stole it fair and square and you’re just a sore loser.” He turns to Edgar. “I don’t even know what the _fuck_ I ever did to you.” 

Edgar shrugs. “Just wanted to beat someone in.” 

Louis is pretty sure his jaw is permanently dropped. “So let me get this straight,” he says. “You’re _all_ thieves.” 

Harry snorts and they all stare at him. “He’s new,” he says. 

Brushing off the growing horror that everyone here is a criminal, Louis clears his throat. “Basically what this means is that you guys are all even,” he says carefully. “Harry stole from you because you stole from him first or because it was fair game.” He glances at Edgar and shudders. “Or he didn’t do anything to you at all.” 

“Yeah, so?” Edgar says. “He’s still wanted.”

“I still need money,” Vlad sneers, taking a step closer. 

“But you don’t have to kill him,” Louis rushes, heart pounding. “What does turning him in alive entail?” 

“It means I’ll get arrested,” Harry says flatly, flicking Louis a warning look. “Which means I can’t take you to see the lanterns or anywhere else.” 

“Oh,” Louis says, slumping. He fumbles for something else to say to convince these scoundrels to let Harry go. 

“Since when do you guys want to willingly help the Royal Guard,” Harry says, crossing his arms. “Vlad, didn’t you get roughed up by a few guards back in the day? And Garcon -” He turns to peer at the owner who arches a brow. “You’d really let them take me? After I helped you set this place up when the nobles ran you out of Lorrana?” 

Garcon just shrugs. “Times are tough, boy. Being broke but loyal just don’t cut it no more.” 

“You haven’t been around in weeks,” Vlad interrupts, voice bitter. “You have no idea what’s been going on, too busy running. The magistrate’s been by a few times, and he ain’t happy with the crowd hanging around here. He wants to shut Garcon down.” 

Harry grimaces, glancing at Garcon. “Is this true?” 

In response, Garcon looks at Louis. “You wanna know if we’ve ever had a dream? I’ve only had one dream for the past decade. Providing a safe space for people like me who aren’t welcome anywhere else. That’s my only dream, and I’ve been lucky to have it for these past few years. But it’s about to be ripped from my hands.” 

“Garcon,” Harry says sadly. “I had no idea.” 

“I wouldn’t sound so sorry yet, Styles,” Garcon says, sounding almost regretful. “Turning you in will get me some points with the magistrate, not just pay my rent. I need those points right now. You’ve been good to me, Harry, I’ll give you that. But it isn’t enough. I sent Corky the moment I saw you come up.” 

Right on cue, someone bursts through the door, a skinny boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen. He’s panting, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Guards are coming up behind me,” he says. “Six of them.” 

Harry stiffens. “Fuck.” 

“Wait, what?” Louis says, turning to Harry who looks panicked. “What’s going on?” 

“We have to run,” he says. They turn to see a room full of brutes, all focused on them. “Guys, come on,” Harry pleads. “I’m one of you.” 

Vlad scoffs, shoving the blade of his knife into the wall and making Louis jump. “Everything you’ve ever done is with the purpose of getting out of this place. You’re not one of us.”

“Vlad,” Garcon says carefully, holding a hand up to silence. He studies Harry for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he looks at Louis who presses back into Harry’s space, unsettled. He turns and reaches for a duckling shaped paperweight, greasy with dirt, curling a big hand around it and turning. 

Something clicks and the floor opens up, wooden panels sliding apart and revealing a dark tunnel. Louis gapes. 

“This isn’t an escape,” he says slowly. “It’s a head start.” 

Outside, the thunder of footsteps echoes and someone calls out, “Where is he?” 

“Liam Payne,” Harry grumbles, grabbing Louis’ hand right as Garcon says, “Boys, cover them.” 

All the brutes crowd closer to the door, blocking Louis’ view of the newcomers but blocking said newcomers from seeing Harry and him as they hurry to the opening. Louis peers down into the darkness, just barely making out the ground about six feet below. He gulps. 

Harry slides down first, gesturing for him to hurry up. 

_Not weak,_ Louis tells himself, and then doesn’t let himself hesitate before he too slides over the edge and jumps. 

He lands on shaky feet, heart pounding in his throat. Above them, an unfamiliar face drops down a lantern and a match which Harry catches with ease. The stranger glances at Louis and says sheepishly, “I’ve always dreamed of finding a missus.” 

Louis grins up at him right as the hatch is shut with a deafening thud, immersing them in the dark. Harry lights the match and raises the lantern, allowing them to see ahead of them to where the tunnel splits into two directions

“C’mon, he said this is a head start and we have to make the most of it,” Harry says, before pointing to the left one. “This one leads out to the canyons and the dam. It’s a bit farther from the city, but it’s our best bet to avoid any other trouble. If we go by the coast, we can make it to the capital right on track. Let’s go.” 

So they take off, faster than a walk but not quite running. Even with the light, Louis can barely see anything, hurrying to keep up with Harry’s long strides and tripping on loose stones more times than he’d like to admit. Pascal pokes his head out and squeaks in complaint, having slept through the events back at the inn, but Louis just shushes him. 

For the next five minutes, the only sound echoing in the narrow tunnel is the harsh pants of their breathing, the hammering of his heart in his ears, and the crash of their shoes against the ground. Every shift and breath feels like a roar, but he still almost jumps when Harry speaks up again. 

“What you did back there, sticking up for me and all, was… really nice of you. So, uh, thanks for that,” he says, glancing back to shoot him a half-smile. “To be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you, but that was really impressive.” 

“I know!” Louis exclaims, sound bouncing off the walls and echoing. He clears his throat and repeats more calmly, “I know.” 

Harry’s smile grows, but he looks away quickly.

Not wanting the unexpectedly friendly conversation to end, Louis clasps his hands and does his best to catch up till they’re side by side. “So, Harry,” he begins carefully, “where’re you from?” 

“Sorry, Blue, but I don’t do the backstory thing,” Harry shakes his head, before giving him a curious look. “However, I’m becoming more and more interested in yours.” He stops for a second and Louis almost trips again before he too halts, meeting Harry’s eyes that seem to be glowing in the dim tunnel light. “If you’ve been wanting to go see these lanterns for so long then why haven’t you gone to see them before?” 

Louis falters, blanching for a moment before he shrugs and plays it off. “My mother doesn’t want me to go off by myself,” he says nonchalantly. 

Harry glances at him. “How old are you again? Aren’t you an adult?” He furrows his brows. “Shit, are you, like, a kid?” 

“I’m eighteen,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Nineteen soon. How old are _you?”_ Harry doesn’t look too much older than him or anything but Louis is quickly realizing that he can’t trust his previous perceptions of humans and men, because the reality is far more complicated than anything his mother told him. 

“I’m twenty,” Harry tells him and Louis takes the admittance as a small victory. “I have another question.”

“What?” Louis asks, pleased that Harry is actually interacting with him. He tries to keep his eyes focused on him instead of the dirt-covered stones around them and the strange white objects on the ground that look a bit like bones. 

“How come you’ve never left that tower at all?” Harry asks. 

Louis fumbles for a response, taken off guard. “What do you mean?” he asks nervously. “I don’t want to leave.”

Harry gives him a pointed look, gesturing around them as if to say, _really?_

“This is the single exception,” Louis insists. “I just want to see the lights for my birthday. Then I’ll come back and stay in the tower.”

“No offense, but that sounds miserable,” Harry says, making a face. 

“Yeah, well, you’re a thief,” Louis says before he can think it through. 

“Oh God, you have no right to judge me,” Harry scoffs. “You don’t know me or anything about my life. Guys like me don’t have much of a choice.” 

“No choice?” Louis repeats, skeptical. _“Sure._ I don’t see how being a criminal is something you don’t willingly choose to do. You literally go and steal people’s stuff for a living.” 

“At least I _live,”_ Harry mutters. He glances at Louis. “Does anyone else come to see you in your tower? Do you have any friends? Other family?” 

“Pascal is my friend,” Louis dismisses. 

“The frog?” Harry asks with a scoff. 

“The chameleon,” Louis corrects, frowning, “and _yes._ He’s a great companion.” 

“What about humans?” Harry asks, disbelief painting his face. “Are you telling me that I was the first human you’ve talked to outside your mother for nineteen years?” 

Louis’ face answers for him. 

Harry gapes at him incredulously. “That is not healthy,” he says, shaking his head. 

“You don’t know me or anything about my life,” Louis says fiercely, repeating Harry’s previous words. 

“Look, something we have in common,” Harry snaps, brows furrowed. The light from the lantern highlights the muscles of his jaw as he grinds his teeth. “For someone who’s never seen the world, you sure seem to have a lot of opinions.” 

“For someone whose misgivings almost got himself killed back there, you sure have a lot of self-satisfaction,” Louis mutters, crossing his arms. So what if Harry Styles is a rude, grumpy thief? He’s taking Louis to see the lights and that’s all that matters. 

He ignores the part of him that was hoping he’d come back from this trip having made a new friend, and resigns himself to staying silent. 

They continue for the better part of an hour by the time the sound of running water reverberates through the tunnel. Louis’ legs are aching again and his stomach is panging from hunger, having never bothered asking for a break knowing that Harry wouldn’t give it. The quiet but distinct spray feels like a relief. 

Harry moves faster and Louis races to keep up, shuddering when the ground gets less and less sturdy and more spongy, boots making an ugly _squelch_ sound with every step. Soon, an opening appears in the distance, small but big enough for them to squeeze through. It’s late afternoon by now, but fading rays of sun still peek in like a saving grace. 

The only problem is that the gap is just out of their reach, meaning they’d have to climb to reach it. Harry surveys it and then turns to Louis. “I’ll boost you up and then you can pull me up after, okay?” 

“Okay,” Louis says begrudgingly. 

He watches as Harry kneels to the ground and places one hand over the other, creating a foothold. Louis takes a deep breath and adjusts his rucksack, glancing up at the opening and making a mental estimate for what he has to do. 

_You can do this,_ he tells himself. So he does. He steps off of Harry’s hand and let’s the boost propel him up. His hands grasp at the stone edge painfully but he presses through it, curling his arms over the side and pulling himself up, up, up, and finally over. 

Just barely stopping himself from tumbling all the way through, he manages to slide over legs-first and then find solid ground beneath his feet. He turns around in surprise, lips parting as he takes in the scene around him. 

The tunnel spilled out into a wide expanse, tall rocky cliffs towering over him on all sides. _Canyon,_ he remembers Harry’s earlier words. Nothing but sandy outcroppings and ridges in all directions. In the distance, the roar of the water is amplified and he sees a complex wooden structure: the dam. Another quick scan tells him that there seems to be no one around, relief bubbling up his throat. He turns back at Harry’s irritated, “Hello?” and rushes to lean over the side again. 

Pulling him up is a bit harder but Louis plants his heels and tugs with all his strength, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He’s not sure how much of a help he truly is, but luckily, Harry finds purchase on a loose stone and is able to sling an arm over, climbing up the rest of the way without Louis’ help. It becomes clear when he steps onto the ground that the stones had been covered in mud, streaks of dirt staining his forearms and hands.

Louis glances down at the hands that had been gripping his muddy ones to find that some has inevitably spread to his own skin. “Gross,” he whines, shuddering as he holds his hands out. 

Harry looks delighted by this, stepping closer as Louis shrinks away. “What? You’re scared of a little dirt?”

“Stop that,” Louis scolds, stepping back when Harry tries to grab him and smear dirt up his sleeve. “You disgusting toad.”

“Have you ever seen a toad in real life?” Harry asks, lunging for him again. The tips of his mud-stained fingers brush Louis’ tunic and he shrieks. Harry laughs out loud, seeming to surprise even himself. “God, it’s just dirt! Did I end up stealing an uptight princess from her castle?”

“You’re insufferable,” Louis spits, wipings his hands on the nearest rocky surface until his skin looks relatively clean and his revulsion can fade. 

“And you’re spoiled,” Harry shoots back, looking far too pleased with himself as he wipes his dirty hands on his jacket, leaving muddy prints on his wake. 

Louis watches and resists the urge to shudder again. “Where do we go now?” he asks instead, gesturing around. 

Harry surveys the land with a critical eye, humming. “I think we should scope out the area a bit and try to find somewhere covered to spend the night. I don’t know which tunnel the guards took. If Garcon was feeling nice, he would have told them to go right which would lead them back to the forest, but we shouldn’t count on it. We need somewhere hidden, then we’ll have supper, get some rest, and start off bright and early tomorrow. Alright?” 

“Alright,” Louis says, frowning. He points off to the distance where there’s a particular big rock juts out from the main canyon, a darkened crevice sticking out between the layers of stone. “There’s a cave over there that might work.” 

They go and check it out, finding that though the opening is narrow, it opens up into a bigger hollow. Harry says he wants to check out the perimeter and tells Louis not to stray off by himself. Louis waits till he’s left before curling his arms around his middle. 

He’s tired and hungry and this cave may not look so threatening right now but it’s only going to get darker and creepier as the night rises and Louis isn’t looking forward to that. He feels way out of his element all of a sudden, a prickling in his eyes and a lump in his throat ready to fester into a sob. But he takes deep breaths and tries to calm down, not wanting to cry. 

_You can do this,_ he reminds himself. _You got this far._

 _But it’s only day one._ He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling shakily. A rush of wind sneaks past him, chill seeping into his bones. He curls into himself tighter, knowing there’s a shawl in his rucksack but not finding the energy to get it. Suddenly, he aches for the warmth of the fireplace back at his tower. He aches for the comfort of his bed that’s much better than the pallets Harry said they’d make with quilts and clothes. He aches for his mother, her voice and her words and her familiarity. 

Pascal peeks his head out of his bag, somehow sensing his distress. He squeaks comfortingly, scampering up his arm and onto his shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Pascal,” Louis assures him softly, but his voice wobbles. He closes his eyes again, remembering the feeling of awe that overtakes him every year when he sees the sky fill with bright lights, the one night of the year where he feels the farthest from alone. The lights are _worth_ it. 

By the time Harry returns, the sky is painted burnished gold and pink, the sun retreating to its slumber while the moon ascends to usurp her. Louis has laid out one of the quilts for them to sit on, the food he packed earlier spread out in his version of a dinner feast. It’s nothing close to what he could whip up back at the tower, but he takes pride in it anyway. 

Harry even thanks him - begrudgingly, of course. They don’t talk while they eat, soaking in warmth from the fire Harry painstakingly lit with stones and twigs he picked up back in the forest. The silence is only broken when Harry explains that he’s going to wake Louis up early tomorrow morning so he ought to make the most of the night. 

Louis brushes his hair meticulously and then gets ready for bed. He brought pajamas but he finds himself too tired to change into them, not knowing where he could even find some privacy to do so. So he just slips off his boots and curls up on the soft quilt, pulling his knees to his chest and shutting his eyes. He tries to pretend it's a bed with sheets made of silk, but the hard ground is unforgiving against his head and sore muscles. He sleeps on his side, gazing at the outline of Harry laying down a bit away. 

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, mind thrumming with staticky nerves about the days of travel ahead of him. When he finally drifts off, his dreams are filled with glowing skies and gleaming jewels. 

-

“Wake up,” a voice is saying. Louis makes a sound of protest, nuzzling his face deeper into the material of his mattress and pulling the blanket higher. Except, his mattress feels a lot firmer than usual, like it’s made of _rock._ “Wake up, Blue,” the voice says, much too deep to be his mother. 

He stiffens, awareness settling in him slowly. Lights, cave, _Harry._

“How early is it?” Louis groans, eyes fluttering open. He blinks through the blurriness, a harsh sting flaring up in his temples, throbbing painfully. Harry’s face comes into focus, lips pulled into a grim line. There’s something in his face that has Louis sitting up quickly. “What?” 

“We have to go,” Harry says. “They caught up.” 

“Oh,” Louis breathes, panic festering. “Oh no.” 

Harry gestures for him to get up, immediately rolling up his quilt and telling Louis to get ready to go. Louis slides his boots on, wincing at the hard surface against his feet that he’ll have to endure for yet another day. Then he wakes Pascal up, the chameleon having gone to sleep by the remnants of the fire, making the most of the dying embers late last night. 

Pascal flicks his tail grumpily but obediently hops into Louis’ bag. Harry scatters the sticks and twigs from the fire but there’s not much they can do to wipe away the ash staining the stone. Hopefully they’ll be far away before anyone can find it. 

They peek out through the opening of the cave and Harry points out into the distance by the tunnel opening they had come out of. There’s a group of men standing by it, dressed in gold plated armor and polished that seems like something out of Louis’ storybook. 

One of them in particular stands out. His armor is shinier than the others, helmet topped with velvet bristles that stand proudly atop his head. Even from far away, Louis can tell he’s speaking, barking loudly to the other five guards. 

“Who’s that?” Louis asks. 

“Liam Payne, son of the captain of the Royal Guard,” Harry murmurs. “He doesn’t like me.” 

Both of them stiffen when another figure climbs down from the gap. He’s short and stocky, red hair cropped short. He stands in sharp contrast to the armored men and their coiffed hair and stiff stances. 

“Who is that?” Louis hisses. 

“Uh, he doesn’t like me either,” Harry says, and when Louis glances at him, he looks pale. “Shit,” he murmurs, and Louis looks back in time to see yet another figure climb out from the opening. He’s much taller than the other, an eyepatch over his right eye and hair of the same flaming red. 

“And who is _that?”_ he asks nervously. 

“Let’s just assume that everyone over there doesn’t like me,” Harry says sharply. “We have to get out of here now.”

“How?” Louis asks. The canyon doesn’t exactly offer much cover, all flat open space and colossal barriers keeping them from getting out. 

“We have to go up by the dam,” Harry says, pointing back up towards the wooden structure Louis saw yesterday evening. “It’s the only way out of here. We have to move fast. We can try to be subtle but they’re going to end up seeing us eventually anyway. So we have to outrun them.” He turns to Louis. “Are you ready?” 

Louis falters, glancing back at the guards. They’re outnumbered eight to two, and woefully unprepared. But they’re also _so_ close. He thinks of the lanterns. “I’m ready.” 

Harry goes out first, waving a hand for Louis to follow only when he thinks it’s safe. They stick close to the rocks, letting the sparse shadows cloak them as much as they can as they make their way further into the canyon. Louis keeps his eyes on the damn, wondering how such a precarious looking structure can hold back the rush of an ocean. 

They’re about halfway to it when the yell sounds out, echoing off the cliffs and ringing in Louis’ ears. He glances back to see the guards racing for them, far away but gaining ground. “Run?” he asks Harry. 

“Run,” he jerks his head in a nod, eyes wide. 

Pascal lets out sounds of objection as he’s jostled when Louis takes off, trying to keep up with Harry’s longer legs as he tightens his grip on the frying pan and the strap of his bag. His hair whips around his face, sun warming his face as they tear through the canyon. 

The dam looms ahead of them, and he spots a rope ladder hanging over the side that looks far too fragile to be their only solution. But that’s exactly where Harry urges him towards, hand flat against his spine, bleeding heat through the fabric of his shirt. 

“You first,” Harry says. 

Louis nods, shoving the frying pan at Harry to hold and adjusting his bag before gripping the rope. He places his foot on the first hold to test the sturdiness and the entire ladder wavers. He sucks in a breath, forcing himself to keep going despite his nervousness. Even so, he goes slower than ideal, contraption swaying with every small shift of his body. 

“Blue, it’s okay, you won’t fall,” Harry says, voice softer than before. “I’ll catch you if you do.” 

Heart in his throat, Louis nods. He grits his teeth and picks up the pace, frayed rope cutting red imprints into his palms from how tightly he grips it, keeping his gaze up, up, up, and never daring to look down. 

“Styles!” someone roars. 

He falters, foot slipping. For a moment that feels like a lifetime, Louis is hanging from his arms alone, but then he shoves his boot back into the rope and lets out a strangled sound of relief, clinging to the ladder in terror. 

“Blue, keep going,” Harry yells. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t look down!” 

Heart roaring in his ears, he tries to listen, body shaking as he continues to lift one foot at a time and slides his hands up. The burn almost hurts but instead it keeps him grounded, vision blurring as a loud _clang_ sounds from below. He flinches but continues, shoulders hunching in with every resounding thud and thump. 

It’s the cry of pain - _Harry’s_ cry of pain - that really has him stopping. Has his head ducking down and his eyes trailing to where Harry is facing off against the redheaded men from before, wielding Louis’ frying pan as his only weapon. He’s clutching his upper arm with his free hand, and Louis can see the blood from here. 

Nausea claws up his throat and he watches, frozen in place, as they corner Harry against the rock wall, matching sneers on their bruised faces. And in the near distance, Liam Payne and his men are creeping closer. 

Louis starts singing without a second thought, hoping no one is paying any attention to him as he feels the hair that had previously been damp against his neck from sweat lift, glowing gold. He sings as fast as he can, eyes narrowing in on a wooden beam that’s tacked vertically over to the side of him. He feels the magic thrumming in his blood, millions of threads that he uses to weave his plan. 

He channels all his energy and then _tugs._

The beam goes crashing down. He just barely has time to say, “Harry, look out!” and watch Harry spring out of the way in time for the column to slam into the men, knocking them down. Louis lets out a cheer of triumph that quickly turns into a gasp when the guards appear in his sight, racing towards Harry. 

But Harry doesn’t look scared. The first guard reaches him, swinging his sword wildly in the air. Harry deflects his first strike and then lands a blow to the side of his head with the pan, body hitting the ground with the thud. The next two go down in similar fashions, each one underestimating the seemingly harmless kitchen tool and ultimately facing the consequences. 

The way Harry moves is almost entrancing, every move deliberate and every attack charged with strength and precision. Louis has to snap himself out of watching, realizing Harry’s still outnumbered down there and though he’s handling it well for now, Louis isn’t taking any chances. Singing under his breath, he finds a loose boulder and sends it rolling towards them. Harry sees it and jumps out of the way, but one poor guard isn’t so lucky. 

Harry dodges another swinging blade and thrusts the pan forward. The guard freezes, hands pressing to his groin as he howls and stumbles back. “God, I have _got_ to get me one of these,” he calls out, almost giddy with relief. 

Then suddenly there’s one left. Liam Payne’s expression could wilt any flower, pure fury dripping from every line of his face. He stalks towards Harry with a sword in each hand, and Harry straightens up, lips flattening into a determined line. 

Steel meets iron in a loud clash, a battle of men on equal footing. However, Louis spies a hand reaching out in his peripheral, watching in horror as the tall man with the eyepatch pulls himself out from under the beam, face red with exertion. His eyes are trained on nothing but Harry. 

Louis looks around for something to intervene with but finds nothing, panic making him dizzy. A loud screech breaks through his surveyal and he glances to the side where the beam he detached was originally placed, mouth dropping open in horror right as the first spray bursts through. 

He was so desperate to help Harry that he overestimated the importance of the wooden brace to the entire structure. He never gave it a second thought. 

And now he watches in almost detached terror as the entire dam trembles and quivers, water gushing through the open gap and spilling down to the canyon. He forces himself to look down just in time to see Eye Patch get swept away in a wave, completely taken by surprise. 

Harry and Liam see it coming, running back but not quick enough. 

The dam sputters and heaves like a living thing. But it too falls against the might of the ocean, giving one last drawn-out groan before the wood splinters and water tears through. Louis screams, swallowing a mouthful of water as he’s knocked off the ladder, falling down, down, down. _Can’t swim,_ gets caught between his lips as the flood knocks him back. 

His body is limp like a ragdoll, powerless to fight against the fervor of the waves that yank him down until he’s choking on water, feeling it soak through his clothes and fill his veins. It’s a wild beast that’s never been tamed, flinging him around. He gets a moment of reprieve before he’s being pulled under again, cold draining down to his lungs. He thrashes and shoves and writhes against it, but the water is everywhere, overtaking him and becoming him. 

Ears are clogged with water, he still manages to hear a strangled, “Blue!” the next time he breaks the surface, muscles burning and eyes burning from salt. He gags and coughs, trying to call out a response to Harry, but no words form. The ocean conquered his lungs, rendered him powerless. 

Yet again, he’s pulled below, feeling his body grow tired, fight draining out of him as the water seeps into him, claiming him. He’s losing his strength, body going lax, right as an arm wraps around his waist, tugging him up. 

Harry swims for both of them, pulling Louis along and out of the way right as a large stone column comes crashing down, trapping them up against the canyon wall with little place to go. Louis is the one to spot the cave opening, a bit higher up but there’s loose rocks that work as footholds as Harry helps him up and into it, following quickly after. It’s almost completely dark inside but Louis just needs the steady sound of Harry’s breathing to anchor him, fumbling for his bag to make sure Pascal is alright. He lets out a sigh of relief when the chameleon coughs up some water, waving his tail to try and dry it even though he’s been completely drenched. 

“Maybe it won’t rise this high,” Harry croaks, voice hoarse and raspy. Louis doesn’t say anything, eyes fixed on the first small trickle of water that sneaks into the grotto. 

The water rises. It floods in like a storm, filling the entire cave. Harry curses under his breath, already rushing to feel around the cave for another exit. Louis is still catching his breath, shuddering at the memory of cold water enveloping him. But he too starts looking when the floor disappears underwater, splashing up to his thighs with every step he takes. 

“It’s no use,” Harry gasps, hands pressing into the walls helplessly, searching for a way out. The water is up to his hips now. “I can’t even see anything.” 

Louis shakes his head, taking a deep breath and then diving below, eyes burning as he tries to search the ground. The water pulls at him, wrestling with his clothes and sinking into his skin. Hands wrap around his waist and tug him up. 

“Hey, hey, hey, there’s no point. Just breathe,” he says, voice almost painfully gentle. He brushes a wet strand of hair from Louis’ forehead and Louis closes his eyes, resisting the urge to cry. “It’s pitch black down there and you can’t swim, can you?” 

Gentle, gentle, gentle. How can Harry be so calm right now?

“This is all my fault,” Louis chokes out, tears spilling out but not sticking out from his already wet cheeks. Suddenly, he’s freezing cold, shivers wracking his body as the water climbs up his torso. He rubs at his eyes helplessly, but no matter how hard he does it, everything is still too _wet._ “I brought the beam down. I made this happen.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Harry says, crowding closer. Even then, he almost has to yell it, the roar of the water getting louder and louder. 

He shakes his head. “She was right. I never should have done this.” 

“Stop it, Blue,” Harry says, squeezing his shoulder.

 _Blue._ Harry doesn’t even know his name. It suddenly feels ridiculous. They’re about to die together and Harry still only knows him as Blue. They don’t know each other at all, Louis thinks deliriously. They don’t know each other at all and they’re going to die together. 

Louis once read in a book that names have a lot of power. He never understood what it meant until this very moment. “My name,” he chokes out, throat raw with how loud he yells it. “My name is Louis.” 

Harry looks startled, but his eyes are kind. “Louis,” he repeats, and Louis wants to cry again because this is the first time someone other than his mother has ever said his name out loud and he never expected that instance to happen like this. “Illas.” 

“What?” Louis says, water pooling at his ears. Harry pulls him to the back of the cave where the ground is a bit higher, water falling to his neck instead. 

“Illas,” Harry repeats. “Where I grew up. It’s a fishing village on the coast, a few hours ride from the capital. I hated it there.”

Louis feels an unexpected warmth blossom in his chest. Harry answered the question Louis asked him yesterday back in the tunnel. He told Louis where he was from. Water splashes up to his lips and he strains onto his toes, letting Harry brace him with solid hands on his waist. “I have magic hair that glows when I sing,” he blurts, mouth snapping shut right after. 

He had made up his mind from the beginning that he wouldn’t tell Harry about his hair or his abilities. It was too risky, and his powers are too special. It’s like his mother always says: he is her most precious treasure. And Harry Styles is a man who _steals_ treasures. 

But here in the dark with the water pouring in and climbing higher and higher, Louis didn’t even hesitate to say it.

“What?” Harry croaks.

“I have magic hair that -” Louis freezes, mouth dropping open. “I have magic hair that _glows_ when I sing!” Heart pounding, he begins singing, “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine -”

The last thing he sees is the outline of Harry’s undoubtedly baffled face before the water submerges them. Louis keeps singing, mouth filling with water, but it works - it works! Harry’s face reappears, illuminated in the water. His cheeks ballooned to hold his breath and eyes wide as he stares at Louis and his glowing hair in disbelief. 

Losing air, Louis looks around and gestures for Harry to follow. The light from his hair guides them, burning brightly and shedding light over the previously concealed corners of the cave. It’s in one corner that they see rocks coming loose, floating up. A way out. 

Harry pulls Louis towards it and they both push at the rocks, grasping and tugging at stones with sloppy fingers as their lungs howl for relief. Harry’s hand breaks through first and they get a second wave of energy. Louis’ vision goes fuzzy, nose burning and spots dancing in his eyes as his hands move completely on instinct. 

The rest of the rocks tumble through and suddenly they’re both falling. Louis gets a gulp of fresh air right before he’s dunked underwater again, caught in the current with nothing to do but surrender to it. 

A hand grabs hold of his and he clings to it as tight as he can as he and Harry are swept down a river. Harry manages to find purchase on a bank and they pull each other back onto land, collapsing on the grass and heaving for breath. Pascal flops out of his bag, squeaking in indignance and wringing droplets from his tail. 

“We made it,” Louis murmurs once most of the water has left his throat, exhaustion weighing down every single one of his limbs. 

“Your hair glows,” Harry blurts dumbly. 

“We’re alive!” Louis exclaims, staring up at the sky - the beautiful, _glorious_ sky which he’s never been more glad to see in his entire life - in awe. 

“His hair glows,” Harry says, directing the words to Pascal who just rolls his eyes. 

“Harry,” Louis prompts, amused. 

“Why does his hair glow?” he asks Pascal panickedly, looking almost spooked. 

“Harry!” Louis says, louder this time. 

“What?” he exclaims, eyes wide. His curls are plastered over his forehead, damp and messy, and suddenly he looks a lot younger. 

Louis muffles his giggle with a hand pressed to his mouth before smirking. “That’s not all it can do.”

Lips twisting into a grimace, Harry glances down at a smug Pascal and then abruptly back to Louis in fear. “Why is it smiling at me?”

The giggle slips out this time. 

-

“Okay, so,” Harry begins as Louis wraps his hands around Harry’s injured upper arm, watching as Harry stifles a wince of pain. “What’re you doing?”

“Just… just watch,” Louis says. “Don’t freak out.” Taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes, he starts singing. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine…” 

“Holy shit,” Harry gasps, meaning Louis’ hair has begun glowing. Sure enough, Louis feels the weight of damp hair on his neck ease, floating in the air around his head like a halo. 

“Heal what has been hurt, change the fate’s design,” Louis sings, voice getting louder and louder, “Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine… what once was mine.” 

He opens his eyes. 

Harry is staring at him in disbelief, mouth dropped open. 

Louis lets go of his arm and Harry’s shocked face grows more gobsmacked when he sees that the bloody gash from the hit he had taken has completely disappeared, leaving nothing but smooth skin. “Don’t freak out,” Louis pleads again. 

“I’m not freaking out,” Harry insists, but he keeps glancing back down at his exposed arm, bending his elbow and turning his bicep in awe. “How -”

“I don’t know,” Louis says honestly, shrugging. 

“It’s just always done… _that?”_ Harry says, gesturing to his hair for emphasis. 

“Yeah,” Louis admits, turning on the log. They veered inland from the river and walked a couple hours till they found a place Harry deemed good enough to camp overnight, upending their rucksacks to let everything dry. He turns to stare at the fire that Harry insisted on building, saying they needed to warm up quickly or they’d get hypothermia. “I don’t think it works for everything… Mother broke her foot once on one of her trips and while I could take the pain away, I couldn’t fully heal it. Still, I suppose it’s pretty helpful.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Mother says that when I was a baby people tried to cut it. They wanted to take it for themselves, but - once it’s cut - it no longer glows.” 

He pushes his hair over his shoulder and finds a strand of hair by the base of his neck. It doesn’t look any different from the rest of his hair right now, but while the others glow gold when he sings, it stays brown. Mother calls it a reminder. “You may not have seen because it’s so dark but this piece of hair doesn’t have any magic anymore. It’s just hair.” 

“Does it - your hair - just have healing properties?” Harry asks, voice lowered to a whisper. 

Louis shakes his head. “I, uh… I can move things… with my mind. Not super big things, but big enough. The beam…” He falls silent, guilt bubbling up inside him. But he shakes it off, letting out a quiet sigh. “That’s why she never let me… that’s why I never left.” He shrugs, trying to brush it off. “It is what it is.” 

Harry stays silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is softer than Louis has ever heard it. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Clearing his throat, Louis tamps down the unexpected burst of worry that he maybe shouldn’t have told Harry this. Harry seems gentle and safe right now, but Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for the rug to be pulled out from beneath him. Part of him aches to just trust Harry freely, but he can’t help but think of his mother and her warnings. So he hastily changes the topic, turning to angle his body towards Harry again. “What about you, Harry Styles? What’s your story?” 

“Well, I can’t say I really have much of one,” Harry says, chuckling when all Louis does in response is scoot closer and rest his chin in his hands eagerly. “I grew up at an orphanage and then let out at eighteen to fend for myself… I’ll spare you the depressing details, but for a guy who had nothing like me - no money, no proper education, no family… There aren’t many options other than getting your hands dirty.” 

“Oh,” Louis says, heart panging at the casual way Harry seems to brush it all off, like it’s no big deal. It has him thinking about his own life - how even though he’s been stuck in the tower, Mother always brought him books and paint and other things. He’s never had to worry about not having food on the table or about being warm. In a strange way, he’s almost been lucky. “I’m sorry, Harry.” 

“It is what is,” Harry echoes his previous words. “The universe and I have this game,” he shrugs. “They toss me some shit and I barely survive. Then they cut me some slack every once in a while so I can recover. We’ve been playing it for twenty years.” He glances at Louis briefly before continuing, “You said you’ve been dreaming about seeing the lanterns your whole life… My dream has always just been getting out of here.”

“Here?” 

“Corona,” Harry says, grimacing. “There’s a whole world out there that I haven’t seen yet and I’m hoping… I’m hoping there’s somewhere out there where I can be happy.” He swallows. “That crown I stole… it’s my way out.” 

“The crown,” Louis whispers, clasping his hands. “It’s pretty.” 

“I suppose so,” Harry shrugs. “It belongs to the lost prince.” 

“Lost prince?” Louis asks, confused. 

Harry glances at him in confusion. “You don’t - of course you don’t. The missing prince, the son of King Marcus and Queen Josephine. He was stolen in the night as a newborn and never seen again. That’s what the lanterns are for.” 

Louis’ lips part and he turns back to the fire, heart twisting. Rationally, he _knew_ the lanterns were never really for him and Harry even mentioned it back at the tower, but he still can’t deny the curling disappointment in his stomach, nor the lump in his throat. He thinks of the missing prince, stolen from his parents so young. “That’s horrible,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “There’s no heir to the throne which is also worrying. Can’t go to a tavern or bar anywhere in this kingdom without hearing someone drunkenly rambling about it. I think the king and queen are still just hoping that one day he’ll be found.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Louis asks, hearing a disproving tone in Harry’s voice.

“I guess… having hope in itself isn’t inherently bad,” he says, shoulders shrugging. “Maybe I’ve just been let down too many times in my life to have any real faith in it.” 

Louis doesn’t respond and their conversation drifts. Any remaining food he and Harry packed in their bags had obviously been drenched beyond consumption, but Harry uses knowledge from his village and childhood and teaches Louis to fashion a fishing pole. They brave the riverbeds and sit by the water, Louis listening to Harry describe different types of fish and tell stories from his youth spent by the ocean. 

It feels strange but freeing to be able to talk to Harry, to be able to hear about his life and how it differed so greatly from his own. He takes every story Harry gives him and stores it close to his heart, knowing it’s a show of trust from the man who had been so distant before. Little jewels of information that Louis will remember for a lifetime. 

In the end, Louis doesn’t catch anything, but thankfully Harry is more successful. They cook the fish over the fire and Louis finds some berries that he knows are edible thanks to a book he’s read to go along with it. By the time the moon rises high in the sky, they’ve set up their pallets and Louis has curled up on his quilt, a blanket tucked around his body to keep him warm. Harry teased him about it, saying Corona was never cold, but Louis is used to falling asleep with the heat of a fireplace and the insulation of the tower. 

Thinking about his home for once doesn’t spark any intense bouts of longing. Louis falls asleep quickly, dreaming of lost princes and lost boys. 

-

Louis finds that now that Harry and him have come to an understanding, the journey is even more enjoyable than ever. Harry woke him up closer to noon, saying they deserved the extra rest after the traumas of the day before. They had more fish and berries and took turns visiting the river to bathe in privacy, letting the rays of the sun dry them off afterwards. Louis spent longer than he intended soaking near the shallow banks of the river, rubbing the dirt and grime from under his nails and his face until his skin was flushed but clear. 

He spent a long time working knots out of his hair too, humming to himself while running the brush he brought through the strands. When he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was sitting over the ledge of the tower instead of on a rock surrounded by nothing but trees and shrubs. 

Eventually, Harry did insist they leave, telling Louis they’d have to make it to Rienville by sunset if they wanted to stay on track. “It’s a small independent village close to the capital,” Harry explained. “It’s a place I’ve stopped by in the past because it’s not part of a magistrate. I’d be surprised if they even knew the king and queen’s name let alone current kingdom news. Even better, it means we can stay in any old inn without risk of someone recognizing me.” 

So they set off walking, Harry leading the way and Louis keeping up the best he can. This time when he asks questions, Harry answers them - or tries to anyway. Louis learns that Harry doesn’t have much knowledge of herbs and plants compared to his own, but he knows things about geography, the kingdom, and about _surviving_ that Louis finds fascinating. 

They see more people than Louis expected to, travelling on horses or wagons pulled by them in pairs or groups of five and more. Harry tells him not to interact, wearing a cloak to conceal his face from anyone who may make a connection. 

It’s mid-evening by the time Louis begins seeing the outlines of buildings in the near distance, smoke pluming into the sky. He’s more nervous than he’d like to admit, scarred by the experience at the Snuggly Duckling Inn and a bit intimidated when Harry says they can look around. 

“Since this is your first time in civilization and all,” he jokes, “might as well see some of it.” 

Louis sticks close to Harry’s side when they enter in, eyes trailing over cobblestone paths and _humans_ all around - talking, walking, all different from one another. It’s overwhelming. Harry said it was a small village, but this is bigger than anything he’s ever known. 

“There’s a market we can visit,” Harry ducks closer to murmur in his ear. “If I nick enough coins, we can have enough for the inn and also to buy some food for tomorrow’s journey.” 

“Wait, you’re going to steal money today?” Louis asks, anxious. 

“We sort of need it,” Harry says, looking amused. “If it makes you feel any better, I only take from those who have more than plenty to give.” 

“No, it’s just - what if something happens to you?” Louis asks, cheeks coloring when Harry smiles at him. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, don’t worry,” he says. “I know what I’m doing, Lou. Just enjoy yourself, I’ll handle everything.” 

“Lou?” Louis repeats, brows furrowing. 

“Yeah, is that okay?” Harry asks, before blinking. “Oh, you don’t - it’s a nickname. A shortened version of your name that can be used by friends and family typically.” 

_Friends._ Louis has to look away to hide his pleased smile. Harry considers them _friends!_ “What’s your nickname?” he asks, clearing his throat and trying to stay calm and collected. 

Harry shrugs. “You can give me one.” 

“A shortened version of your name,” Louis says, humming in consideration. “H.” 

“No, it’s -” Harry pauses, before shrugging. “Actually, that works.” 

He leads Louis to the market, and explains what every stall is selling: clothes, jewelry, and more. Louis wants to see and try everything. Harry begrudgingly indulges him, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets as Louis drapes shawls over his shoulders and bangles over his wrists, hearing them jangle when he shakes his arms. He talks to the lady who makes them and she ends up letting Louis take some for _free,_ laughing when Louis asks her if she made them with magic because, “They’re so beautiful!” 

Louis gets more and more comfortable with so many people in close proximity, no longer shrinking closer to Harry in worry and suspicion. He still gets nervous when Harry tells him he’s going to go get them some money and returns to the kind lady’s stall so she can distract him with more shiny pretty things. He notices she has some graying hairs, knowing he could get rid of them easily but also knowing that he still wants to keep his powers a secret. He may have told Harry but that doesn’t mean he should go around telling everyone. 

Relief still fills his body when Harry returns, feeling more grounded with his presence. They buy some food - fruit and bread and more - before Harry says they should head to an inn. 

“I didn’t expect a market to be like that,” Louis confesses, staring down at his bangle covered forearms with a smile as they leave the main square and follow the directions that a nice villager gave them. “The one Mother goes to is so scary.” 

“Which one?” Harry asks, frowning. 

“Devil’s Market,” Louis tells him, almost shuddering as he remembers the stories Mother would tell of the people who go there and never came back. 

“Devil’s Market?” Harry asks, confused. “Never heard of it.” 

“Mother said it was the closest one to the tower,” Louis shrugs. “Maybe you’ve never been there.” 

“I know of a Devlin’s Market,” Harry says, shooting him a confused look. “But never a Devil’s one. You said it was ‘scary’? How so?” 

“Devlin’s?” Louis repeats skeptically, before shaking his head. “Mother says there’s a lot of dangerous people there and she risks her life every time she steps foot there, but it’s the closest place to get food and other things for us. She goes about once or twice a month.” He glances at Harry who’s looking at him with an unreadable expression. “What?” 

Harry purses his lips. “Nothing, it’s - I probably haven’t been there, you’re right.” 

They walk the rest of the distance to the inn in silence. It’s much nicer than Louis expected, pretty floral wallpaper lining the walls and a fire crackling in the hearth, and it’s definitely much friendly than the Snuggly Duckling. The lady at the counter is kind and tells them that they can have a complimentary breakfast in the dining hall or delivered to them in the morning. Harry only managed to collect enough money for a single room but he tells Louis that there’s a couch that he can sleep on while Louis takes the bed. 

Louis nods, already excited at the prospect of sleeping on a mattress again instead of the hard ground. He lets Pascal come out and onto his shoulder as he wanders around the room, looking at the paintings that hang from the walls - renderings of mountains and oceans and other pretty sights. Louis wonders if they’re all real places in Corona, and then he wonders if he’ll ever get to see them. 

“Is that… a lizard?” the lady asks when Louis returns to the counter, eyeing Pascal with a frown. 

“He’s a chameleon,” Louis says brightly. Pascal squeaks in acknowledgement, crossing his little arms. 

“Yeah, it’s our… pet,” Harry says. “He won’t cause any trouble, don’t worry.” 

She stares a bit longer but nods, handing Harry the key to the room. Harry gestures for Louis to follow and they enter the hallway, lanterns hanging from hooks to light the way. The room they got is at the very end, and Harry unlocks it, opening the door to reveal the space. It’s small but Louis sees the coral pink bedding and the vase of flowers on the nightstand and exhales, content. 

They eat dinner together, leaning up against the bed frame. Harry is curious about Louis’ abilities so Louis sings for him, using Pascal as his demonstration. Harry watches the floating chameleon in awe and calls out names of other items for Louis to move. 

Louis has to stop when he runs out of breath, apologizing. “Sorry, I’m not used to singing this much.” 

“It does seem rather tiring,” Harry says. “Having to sing every time you want to use the magic.”

“I think it’s for the better, actually,” Louis says. At Harry’s curious look, he explains, “Having power like that… it shouldn’t be easy. It’s like… a responsibility, something that shouldn’t be taken advantage of.” He thinks of a way to phrase it, wanting Harry to understand. “I have to sing to use my abilities… It takes some extra effort, which means it takes extra _thought._ It’s not something that I can do by accident. I have to sing the song with intent, and having that extra step makes it less likely for me to use my powers for ill intentions. It should only be used for good things - like helping someone or necessary self-protection.” 

“That… makes sense,” Harry says quietly. He’s giving Louis a strange look, almost thoughtful. “I wouldn’t have looked at it like that. I would have just been annoyed. You always look at the bright side of things, don’t you?” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Louis asks, confused. 

“No… not at all,” Harry says, giving him a half-smile. “Just different from me.” He clears his throat. “You have a nice voice too… Like, I don’t think it’d ever be a bother to hear you sing.” 

Feeling an unfamiliar feeling blossom in his lungs, burning in his cheeks, Louis ducks his head. “Thanks, H.” 

They get ready for bed in a comfortable silence. Louis feels bad for Harry because the couch looks cramped and sags in the middle but Harry assures him that he’s not picky when it comes to places to sleep. 

Louis sits up against the headboard and brushes his hair, singing to himself. Harry pauses from untying his boots when he hears, watching Louis with a curious look. 

“Do you always sing when you brush your hair?” Harry asks. 

“Force of habit,” Louis admits. “I’m just used to singing for my mother while she brushes my hair, I guess.” 

“She likes to hear you sing?” Harry asks, getting onto the couch. 

“Yeah,” Louis says slowly, “but it’s also to heal her.” 

“Heal her?” Harry says, lips parting as a sad expression settles on his face. “I’m sorry, Louis.” 

The realization of what Harry interpreted hits him a second later and he shakes his head vigorously. “No, she’s okay! Not sick! I just bring her energy back.” 

“Her… wait, what?” Harry asks, frowning. 

“Like, when she comes back from her trips,” Louis explains. “They always drain her and she comes back with graying hair and wrinkles so I get rid of them for her. It’s the least I can do, after all. She risks her life trying to keep me safe.” He glances at Harry who’s wearing the same unreadable expression from earlier, eyebrows drawn together and lips flattened into a line. “What?” 

“It’s just…” Harry starts, before hesitating. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange for her to ask you to do that?” 

Louis frowns. “Huh?” 

“You were just talking about how your powers should only be used for things like helping people or self-defense,” Harry says. “This… this is pretty different, is all I’m saying.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Louis asks, staring at Harry in disbelief. 

“You called it healing, didn’t you?” Harry says, frown growing. “Gray hair and wrinkles isn’t a sign of injury or sickness, Lou. It’s called _growing old._ It’s natural, not something that should be healed. You say you get rid of them, right? You’re really just returning her youth to her, not energy. And that may still constitute helping her, but it’s… it’s helping something that doesn’t need to be helped. People grow old - their hair turns gray and they get wrinkles. It seems to me that she just wants the beauty aspect.” 

“That’s - that’s ridiculous,” Louis says, shaking his head. “You don’t see her when she comes back. She looks so frail and fragile. I _heal_ her.” 

Harry shakes his head. “Physical appearance is never an indicator of true strength. She can still have energy and do plenty of things when her hair is gray, trust me.” 

“What are you saying?” Louis asks, bristling. “That she’s lying to me?” 

“I’m not - I’m not accusing her or _you_ of anything, Louis,” Harry says gently, sensing his defensive expression. “I’m just saying I found it odd, is all.” 

“You don’t know her,” Louis says coldly, feeling a mixture of confused and hurt. What Harry’s saying is completely unfamiliar to him and completely different to what his Mother said. But only one of them can be right. Louis can’t think of a reason that Harry might be misleading him, but compared to his mother, Harry is just a stranger. “You don’t know _me.”_

He can see the exact moment Harry closes off, expression hardening and body tensing. 

“Yeah, maybe I don’t,” Harry says, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. He lays down on the couch and turns away so his back is to Louis. “Goodnight.” 

Heart beating unevenly, Louis has to take a few breaths before he can reach for the nightstand to blow out the light, washing the room in darkness. 

It takes him a long time to fall asleep. 

-

Louis wakes up with a gasp, eyes flying open as he sits up in bed. He blinks against the darkness, heart pounding in his throat. It takes him a second to remember where he is, an unfamiliar blanket pooled at his waist and an unfamiliar chill in the air. 

But he does remember, repeating _inn, inn, inn_ in his head until his ears stop ringing. He rubs his eyes, glancing out the single window where the sky is still dusky cobalt. It’s the middle of the night, he reckons. So why did he -

Harry’s mumbling. Louis strains to hear it, deep voice muffled but unmistakable. He fumbles for the light and a match. Harry showed him how to light one when he built their last fire, but it’s much harder in the dark. He has to get out of bed, hissing at the cold floor beneath his bare toes, and go to the window so the moon can provide some light. 

When the flame finally lights, he sighs in relief, feeling a tinge of pride warm his chest. But then Harry lets out a broken, “No!” and he snaps out of it, grabbing the lantern and rushing to the couch. The flame casts a dim glow over Harry’s thrashing body, skin damp with sweat and brow pinched, but his eyes are still shut. He’s having a nightmare. 

Louis places the light on the floor and kneels by the couch, unsure what to do. If it were him, he’d want to be woken, so that’s what he tries to do. He moves slowly and hesitantly, pressing a hand to Harry’s shoulder and flinching when Harry jerks. 

“Harry,” he says softly, getting no response. He raises his voice. “Harry. Wake up, H.”

“No,” Harry croaks, still tossing and turning. “Please, no. Don’t -”

“Wake up,” Louis says, louder and more worried. He grips Harry’s shoulders and shakes him, getting frustrated. “Harry, wake up or I’ll get Pascal,” he threatens. 

And just like that, Harry shoots up, almost sending Louis tumbling back onto the ground. “What?” he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “What happened?” He turns to Louis and grips his waist. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “but are _you?_ You were having a nightmare.” 

Harry stiffens, pulling back. “Oh.” He lifts his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Louis murmurs. He hesitates before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“It was just…” Harry pauses to sigh, holding his head in his hands. “A bad memory. From back at the orphanage in Illas.” 

Louis bites his lip, taking a seat next to Harry gingerly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he says softly. 

“No, it’s okay, I can,” Harry says, lifting his head again. “The woman who ran the place wasn’t very friendly.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “Me and this other boy broke a ceramic pot one time when we were running around, but he ran before she found us so I got pinned with all the blame. She knew I didn’t like small spaces so she locked me in the broom closet overnight even when I begged her not to.” He swallows, bob of his throat highlighted under the rays of the light. “I was maybe six years old.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Louis says, raising a hand to his mouth in horror. He pictures a younger, more innocent version of Harry sitting alone in the dark, distressed and upset. His heart squeezes and he shuts his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “That’s terrible.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry assures him, voice gentle. “It was a long time ago. I don’t get nightmares like that very often, just every once in a while.” 

He keeps his eyes shut, willing away the familiar prickling that means he’s close to crying. A hand lands on his shoulder, solid and comforting. 

“Lou, it’s okay,” Harry whispers. 

“I should be telling you that,” Louis sniffles, opening his eyes. His heart twists again when he looks at Harry and sees the remnants of unease on his face. “How could she be so cruel?” he asks sadly. 

“I don’t know… I didn’t really know anything about her, actually. Maybe she was going through a rough time,” he says and then shrugs, “or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t care.” He glances at Louis, voice lowering. “Humans are just cruel sometimes.” 

It sounds like something his mother would say and that has Louis shivering. “Isn’t that… I dunno, scary? Not knowing, I mean.” 

“What?” Harry asks. “Like… being around humans and not knowing if they’re good people until it’s too late?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, though he’s not quite sure. 

Harry doesn’t respond immediately, seeming to mull it over. “I guess it is scary,” he shrugs. “But I think… it’s worth it. Meeting people and trusting some of them even if they break it. Because for every person that’s shit to you, there’ll be someone that’s kind.” 

Louis looks at him, biting his lip. 

“What?” Harry asks when he notices, raising an eyebrow. 

“I wouldn’t have looked at it like that,” he says simply. 

The smile that Harry gives him makes him feel unsteady. 

“Hey, listen,” Harry says after a beat, looking apologetic all of a sudden. “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable earlier… um, you were right. I don’t know your mother and it was wrong of me to make a judgement on her.” 

“I forgive you,” Louis says instantly, realizing he’s not mad about it at all anymore. “Are we okay?” he asks, a bit nervous at the answer. 

“We’re golden, Louis,” Harry says, dimple peeking out. 

After a few more hushed words, Louis takes the lantern and creeps back to the bed. He spots Pascal’s sleeping body curled up at the foot of the mattress and smiles. He glances back at Harry who’s lying back down and his smile grows. It remains as he blows out the flame and slips back into bed, lips still in a curve even when sleep comes to take him into its embrace. 

-

Louis and Harry eat breakfast at the dining hall, and Louis talks to as many people as he can. Pretty much all of them are friendly, asking him and Harry about their plans and then telling them to remember to be safe traveling on the roads. 

Harry was right when he said that none of them would recognize him, and they savor their meal and the extra company. Louis spends time talking to a woman and her husband, shocked when she gestures to her plump stomach and tells him they have a baby on the way.

“Please tell me your mother told you how babies are made,” Harry leans over to whisper at him.

“She didn’t,” Louis shrugs, “but don’t worry, I’ve read about it in books.” 

“Of course you have,” Harry whispers, but Louis ignored him in favor of asking more questions about the baby. Evangeline complains about her cramps and Louis tells her about some herbs that he’s read about that are said to reduce the pain. She listens to everything he says with wide eyes, promising to try it out. 

By the time they’ve finished breakfast, Evangeline and Geoffrey have promised them a _horse._

“It’s really no trouble,” she insists when Harry tries to refuse. “He needs to be taken back to the capital anyway. We borrowed him to pull our wagon but he belongs to my brother. His stables just outside the city so you can return them when you’re heading back, easy peasy.” 

Harry glances at Louis who nods, giddy at the idea of getting to ride one of the creatures he’s admired in stories and never seen up close. They accept. 

After thanking the couple profusely, they bid them farewell and head back to the room to pack up once and for all. Harry reveals that with the boost of going by horse, they’ll reach the capital city by this evening instead of midday tomorrow which was the original estimate. That’s when Louis remembers that _tomorrow_ is his birthday. 

It’s crazy to think that it’s been three days already, that they’re set to reach the city _today._ It’s crazy to think so much has happened but the journey is far from over - crazy, but amazing.

They check out of the inn and Louis is the one to hand their key back, glancing at the paintings that cover the walls and wondering if he’ll ever fill his own gallery of sights. 

He begs Harry to stop at the market once more before they leave, now that there’s less of a rush. Harry refuses at first but Louis pleads and pleads until he finally sighs out a _“Fine.”_

Most of the stalls from yesterday are still there but some - including the kind lady he met - are gone. Harry explains that not every stall sells every day and that she’ll probably be back tomorrow. Louis is disappointed not to see her but he quickly gets distracted by other things, fingers grazing over brightly colored silk from lands far away while a dozen different smells waft into his nose. 

There’s a stall selling a bunch of hats that Louis drags Harry by the arm to, immediately picking up an embroidered Bergere which he’s familiar with thanks to his mother’s extensive collection. He places it on his head and gives a little twirl, feeling happiness fill his insides, pulling at the corners of his lips and crinkling in his eyes. 

“How do I look?” he asks Harry, eagerly. 

Harry’s eyes linger on his face instead of the hat on his head. “Beautiful.” 

Willing his blush away, he opens his bag to ask Pascal’s opinion. “Yes or no?”

Pascal studies him intently before shaking his head. 

His mouth drops open. “Who knew so much judgement could fit into such a small body,” he mutters, shaking his head as Pascal flicks his tail in his version of a shrug. 

“Could say the same to you,” Harry says, chuckling. 

Louis scowls at him, but Harry just laughs again. He grabs the nearest hat and gestures for Harry to put it on. It’s a black cap with a large red feathered plume. It’s rather ridiculous but Louis thinks Harry looks sort of handsome anyway, feeling flustered at the thought. 

They keep trying more hats on, picking ones out for each other and giggling as they get more and more gaudy and ostentatious - brighter colors and feathers galore. Louis nearly startles when he realizes a woman has stepped up to the stall beside him, browsing the hats and shooting them amused looks. 

“You two are so sweet,” she says when she notices Louis looking. “Reminds me of me and my James.” 

“Thank you,” Louis beams, but Harry clears his throat.

“We’re not…” He glances at Louis who sends him a confused look. “Never mind.”

Harry ends up steering him to another booth after that, pointing out the stall with wood carvings that they spend some time admiring. Louis asks the man questions about the pieces, feeling happy with all the new things he’s learning and seeing. 

By the time they finally walk out of the market, Louis has met many people - all so different and all so _kind._ He thinks he believes Harry’s words more than ever. There may be cruel people in the world, but people - meeting them and knowing them - are still worth it.

He glances at Harry. Some especially so.

Geoffrey is waiting by the village gates as promised, a gorgeous white horse tied beside them. Louis’ excitement returns full-force. “This is Maximus,” Geoffrey tells them, handing the reins to Harry. 

The stallion stands tall and proud, the ripple of muscles in his flank distinct and just the slightest bit intimidating. He snorts when Harry reaches out to run a hand down his side, jerking back. 

“He’s a bit stand-offish to strangers, but he’ll behave,” Geoffrey explains. He rubs Maximus’ shoulder before sending them a smile. “I have to get back to the missus but I wish you a safe journey. Take care, both of you.” 

“You too,” Harry says. “Thank you again for this.” 

“It’s nothing,” Geoffrey says, waving them off. He glances at Louis. “Angie tried some ginger and Guelder rose tea and her pain has lessened. Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Louis smiles, happy that his knowledge could be of use. 

They bid Geoffrey goodbye, and Harry beckons Louis closer to the horse. “I’m going to get on first and help you up, okay?” he says. Louis nods so Harry turns to the horse, except Maximus apparently does not agree. He rears back when Harry takes a step closer, letting out a neigh of protest. 

Harry frowns. “C’mon, buddy, work with me here,” he says, tightening his grip on the rein. He continues to move closer but his body language is much too confident. Maximus snorts, nostrils flaring. He digs his hoof into the ground in a defensive stance and Louis winces. 

Instead of adjusting his approach and moving more cautiously, Harry seems to get irritated, brows drawing down and lips flattening. He’s exuding frustrated and tense energy and it’s almost like the horse can feel it, bristling and twitching. 

Before Louis can shout to tell Harry to stop, Harry, once again, tries to step closer, stance wide and threatening. Maximus squeals and jerks his head, ripping the reins from Harry’s hands and trotting back. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry says, before moving to follow. 

Louis doesn’t hesitate this time, he grabs Harry’s arm, stilling him. “Wait, just wait,” he says, feeling the tension in Harry’s bicep through the fabric of his shirt. “He’s scared and you’re making him more scared.” 

“Really?” Harry says, sounding doubtful. 

“Can’t you see it?” Louis murmurs, before tugging Harry back gently. “Let me try.” 

This seems to distress Harry though, because he grips Louis’ wrist, grimacing. “Are you sure?” he asks, glancing at Maximus who still looks on guard, letting out angry exhales and scraping lines into the dirt with his hooves. “What if he…” He trails off, but Louis gets the gist from the worry in his tone. 

“I’ll be careful,” he insists, but gears himself up for an argument. 

To his surprise, Harry just nods. He still looks skeptical but he lets go of Louis’ wrist. “I’m right here,” he says. A reassurance, but not a dismissal. He believes in Louis, and that realization feels monumental. 

Snapping out of it, Louis steels himself and focuses his attention on the spooked horse. He remembers reading a story once where the protagonist talked to her horse, the use of voice and soothing words proving instrumental in their bond. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says, hoping the creature finds comfort in the steady tenor of his voice. He inches forward into Maximus’ direct line of sight, keeping his actions slow and controlled, completely non-threatening. 

Maximus narrows his eyes on him, still tensed up and distrustful.

“It’s okay, boy,” Louis coos, resolve solidifying with every step he takes. He keeps his hands to the side, knowing any wrong movement can be misinterpreted. “You’re okay,” he continues. “Everything’s okay.” 

He’s amazed himself when he makes it right up to the horse, less than a few feet away. He’s nervous, yes, but when Maximus just shies away, he realizes he’s just a big old sweetheart, just as scared of them as they are of him. “Look at you. Such a good horse,” Louis praises, carefully lifting his hands. He moves even more slowly, watching those big brown eyes track his every motion. 

Oh so carefully, he reaches out and rubs the soft fur in the middle of his forehead, another detail he remembered from the story. He can feel his heart pounding against his ribs, afraid that in any moment the horse could buck up and knock him down with his powerful legs. But he pets the horse with careful strokes of his fingers, and soon the stallion relaxes. His head lowers and the tension in his shoulders fades. Louis moves to pet his flank, running his hand over the soft milky coat and smiling when the horse whinnies in contentment. 

And when Louis grabs the reins, he doesn’t even flinch. 

Harry looks impressed when Louis glances back at him, following Louis’ example and approaching carefully this time. Maximus still shoots him a wary look, but Louis hushes him, rubbing circles into his back. 

“It’s okay, Harry’s grumpy, but he’s harmless,” Louis tells him. 

“Excuse me,” Harry says, affronted. 

Louis shushes him, holding back a smile. 

It takes a few more minutes to coax Maximus into letting Harry on, but with Louis’ encouragement he finally relents. Harry takes the reins and puts the ball of his foot in the stirrup, explaining everything he does to Louis so he can get on after. Once he’s seated on the horse, he carefully leans over and holds a hand out for Louis to grip, having to surge up onto his toes to reach the hold. 

He miraculously manages to swing a leg over, nearly slipping but saved by Harry’s tight hold on his fingers. He checks that his bag and Pascal are intact before tentatively wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle. It hits him then how little space there is between them. He knew, of course, that they’d be riding together on one horse and that he’d have to hold onto Harry for the ride, but it’s different actually experiencing it. 

All Louis can see, touch, smell is _Harry._ He smells like forest and firewood and something else indiscernible, heat bleeding through their points of contact and making Louis feel dizzy. He suddenly feels overwhelmed, but he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he simultaneously has the urge to scoot as far away as possible while also having the urge to close any remaining distance between them - to breathe in the proximity and presence of Harry and bask in it. 

“Uh, Lou?” Harry says, sounding confused. 

Louis blinks, realizing he must’ve missed something. “Sorry, what?” he asks, glad that Harry can’t turn around and see the dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks. 

“I said, are you comfortable?” Harry asks. “I’ll start off slow so you can get used to it.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Louis stutters, trying to clear his head. “Go ahead.” 

Thankfully, Harry doesn’t comment on his stammering, tugging on the reins and starting Maximus off on a slow walk. It’s strange at first, every step jostling him a bit and the distance from the ground seeming much larger than it truly is, but Louis gradually gets accustomed, adapting to the feeling and allowing himself to look around again. 

He clasps his hands together, pulling him a bit closer to Harry’s back - close enough to feel the flex of Harry’s abdomen muscles when he tugs on the reins or shifts in the saddle, close enough to press his face between his shoulder blades if he wanted. 

Not that he wanted. 

They ride in silence for the most part. Harry seems concentrated on the road, navigating around loose stones and uneven ground, while Louis gets lost in his thoughts, sunshine warming his face and easing him into his daydreams. He thinks he may even doze off a bit, the steady trot becoming a perfect lullaby as he drifts off, feeling _safe_ with warmth bleeding from Harry’s back into his front, a reminder of his presence. 

The abruptness of Harry bringing Maximus to a halt hours later pulls him from his rest, blushing when he realizes how much he’s been leaning on Harry during his sleep. Harry doesn’t mention it, telling Louis quietly that they’re stopping to eat lunch. He glances up at the sky to see the sun has risen to its midday throne, shining down on them faithfully. It’s a bit trickier dismounting than it was mounting, and Louis has to pause and regain his balance more than once. 

However, with Harry’s help, he manages to jump down safely to the ground, stumbling back from impact but catching himself before he tripped. Harry hops off with a bit more ease thanks to the extra room, attempting to lead Maximus off the road only for the horse not to budge. Rolling his eyes, he turns to Louis and holds the reins out. 

Amused, Louis persuades Maximus into walking over to a tree where Harry helps tie the leather strip around a branch so Maximus can’t wander off. Louis is worried he’ll react badly to the restraint but he just drops his head to the grass to graze, letting out a soft purr of content. 

Louis turns and almost gasps, finally able to take in the beautiful meadow they’ve stopped in. There’s a brook off to the side, the gentle sound of running water meeting his ears like a caress. The water is clear and shallow - the latter being a relief to both of them, Louis is sure. 

Harry doesn’t complain when Louis yanks off his boots and socks, wanting to feel the soft grass beneath his bare feet. Wildflowers brush his toes and tall, gnarled willow trees create shadows from the beating sun. 

It’s so gorgeous that Louis itches for paper and paint, wanting to capture the beauty to keep with him forever. Alas, he doesn’t have anything with him but his eyes so he settles for memorizing the way the sun dances over the water and the trees rustle in the breeze. 

They set up a quilt and eat bread and cheese and fruit. Louis licks berry juice from his fingers and dips his toes into the cool water and twirls through the grass until his heart feels full with happiness. He teaches Harry how to make daisy chains, and though it’s a futile effort since Harry’s fingers are too clumsy and rough for threading the delicate little stems. It’s alright because Louis makes wreaths for both of them, feeling his insides go a bit fluttery when Harry tucks a few extra flowers behind his ear, brushing some hair away from his face as he goes. 

A bit later, they’re both laying on the grass, soaking in the sunlight and stalling before continuing their journey. There’s less than a foot of space between them. Louis knows because he’s painstakingly aware of it, the skin of his arm prickling with awareness that Harry’s own arm is just inches away, so close to brushing his. It’s strange, Louis thinks, to be this conscious of the gap between you and another beating heart. But he is, insides contracting every time Harry so much as shifted. 

“There’s maybe two to three hours left of riding and we’ll be in the city,” Harry says. He doesn’t say it loudly, but his voice still overtakes Louis’ senses, reverberating in the deepest corners of his mind, thrumming in the cavity of his chest. It’s strange, Louis thinks, to be this affected by the sound of someone’s voice. But he is, having to take a deep breath before he’s able to respond. 

“We’re so close,” he murmurs, but he isn’t sure if he fully registers the true implications of what he’s saying - of what _Harry’s_ saying - until this moment. They’re _almost there._

Suddenly, he feels overheated, sitting up abruptly in the grass and drawing in a breath. _Almost there._ He feels jittery, threads of contentment unravelling in spools, pooling at his feet. 

“Louis, are you okay?” Harry asks, and the way his name sounds coming from Harry’s lips makes that fluttery feeling return, mixing with an onslaught of distress until he feels nauseous. 

He opens his mouth, trying to reply, to reassure. Nothing comes out. He shakes his head, frustrated, pulling his knees to his chest and staring blankly ahead to where the water ripples in the breeze. 

A shiver wracks his body when Harry presses a hand to his shoulder, fingers warm and encompassing, anchoring him in place and keeping him from unravelling straight into the sky. 

“Breathe,” Harry says. 

Louis breathes. A bit too quickly at first, nearly choking on his sharp inhale and wobbling on his exhale. But he keeps doing it, fingers curling into the fabric of his blouse. It’s one of his favorites, brought back by his mother from the market - white cotton with bell sleeves. He focuses on the texture of it against his fingers as he fumbles for a way to articulate what he’s feeling. 

“It’s almost over,” he blurts. 

“What?” Harry asks, stunned. 

“This,” Louis breathes, curling into himself. “This journey.” 

Harry doesn’t respond, but his hand tenses on Louis’ shoulder. 

“I can’t believe we’re almost there,” Louis says, voice wavering. “Tomorrow is my birthday.” 

“Tomorrow is your -” Harry’s mouth drops open. _“Tomorrow is your birthday?”_

Louis falters, baffled by the shock on Harry’s face. Did he really never mention it? “Yes,” he says finally, forcing a smile. “It is.” 

“God, Louis,” Harry says, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to have any time to prepare now?” he complains, feigning annoyance. 

“You don’t have to prepare anything,” Louis says, smile turning a bit more genuine. 

“Of course I do,” Harry scoffs. “It only comes around once a year, after all! I need to find you a present. We need to _celebrate.”_

“We don’t have to do anything,” Louis assures him, giggling because Harry looks so serious about it. “Besides, you already gave me a present.” He hopes Harry can hear the sincerity in his voice when he says, “This trip is the best gift I could have ever been given.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything immediately and Louis feels a bit shy, embarrassed by how emotional he feels and positive that Harry is turned off by it. But when he gathers the courage to lift his eyes to him, Harry is staring at him as if he’s someone extraordinary. “It’s been a pleasure,” is all he says. 

Louis has to look away, cheeks flushing red. “I don’t want it to end,” he mumbles softly, trailing his gaze over blades of grass. 

“It’s far from over yet,” Harry says, just as quietly. 

“Still,” Louis murmurs. He hesitates but decides he wants to just let it out, “This has been the most incredible experience of my life. I’ve… I’ve been dreaming about seeing the lights since I was a child, but part of me is beginning to realize that…” He pauses to clear his throat, emotion clogging his throat. “Part of me is beginning to realize that I’ve been fixating on this dream - have been relying on it and worshipping the idea - for so long because it was my one true escape. It was easier to dream than to think about real life. Easier to wish and hope than to focus on the fact that my future was so bleak.”

“Lou,” Harry says, but Louis shakes his head, needing to continue. 

“Leaving the tower… going on this adventure… it’s been amazing, Harry,” he says, feeling wetness form in his eyes. He turns to Harry, feeling his heart squeeze. “You were right, you know. I’ve never lived. Not for real. My life in the tower… It wasn’t -” He breaks off into a sob, body caving in. He doesn’t want to go back, he realizes with startling intensity. He doesn’t want to go back to the confines of the tower where he can’t feel the sun on his face or have friends or _breathe._ He doesn’t want to go back to loneliness and emptiness when he’s felt what it’s like to be _full._

He doesn’t want to go back, and the realization sends him slipping, free-falling into the uncharted and unknown. 

Harry catches him, solid and strong and _safe._ He curls his arms around Louis and holds him close, whispering soothing words into his ears and running gentle hands down his body, stopping the trembles. Louis presses his face into Harry’s shirt and tries to calm down, concentrating on the rumble of Harry’s voice, his smell, his touch. Eventually, his breathing evens out but he doesn’t dare move an inch, taking as much comfort as he can get. 

“You will,” Harry says after a bit, nothing but conviction laced in the timbre of his voice. Louis closes his eyes. Exhales. “This isn’t the end, Louis. You’re going to have many adventures. This one is just the first. I promise.” 

Nestled in Harry’s arms in the safe haven of the meadow, Louis tries to believe him. 

-

Louis hums to himself as he looks up at the sky, making shapes out of the clouds and stories to go along with them. He’s wandered quite a bit away from their original spot, but he can still squint his eyes and see Harry asleep on the quilt back over the brook, mouth agape and daisy chain still entangled in his hair. He drifted off a while ago and though they have to get going soon, Louis didn’t have the heart to wake him. 

Instead, he busied himself with other things - washing his hair in the brooke and brushing it so it’s nice and smooth again, playing a round of hide and seek with Pascal with a wider terrain than they’ve ever had, and checking on Maximus. Now, he’s watching the clouds meander across the sky, changing forms and faces a dozen times over, but still always a cloud. 

He gets a bit entranced by it, the endless and constant motion of the sky above him - so entranced that he nearly misses the galloping of hooves growing louder and louder, closer and closer. But then he _does_ hear it, shooting up with a gasp. His first thought is _guards,_ already scrambling to his feet and preparing to run and wake Harry. 

But it’s a lone rider that tears into their solitude on a horse the color of night, a long velvet plum skirt the only color peeking out from an ebony cloak.

A heeled boot slips from the stirrup, and a pale arm is exposed as the woman dismounts from the mare. 

Louis knows that skirt. He knows that boot. He knows that arm. 

Face concealed by a hood, she strides towards Louis and he stands paralyzed, roots sprouting from his heels and trapping him in his place. 

She stops five feet away from him and throws back the hood, dark curls streaked with gray spilling out and a red lipped scowl directed to him.

“Mother.” It’s ripped from him, wrenched from the deepest part of his body, shock and fear mixing inside him when he sees the calm expression on her face. He’s seen his mother annoyed. He’s seen her livid. He’s never seen her so emotionless and steady, an icy frisson in the slate of her eyes and a harshness to the curve of her lips. “How - how did you find me?”

“How did I find you?” she repeats, voice cutting straight through to his ribs. “Oh, _please,_ it was easy. I just followed the sound of complete and utter _betrayal_ across the kingdom and here you are.” 

Her words are sharp, void of any emotion except distaste. Louis winces, fumbling for something to say. He needn’t have worried, because she isn’t finished yet. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like,” she says slowly, “to stop on your way to visit your dear sister and decide you must turn around and go back because you just _can’t_ miss your darling son’s birthday, only to return to the tower, fatigued and weary, to find him _gone.”_

“Mother, I’m so sorry,” Louis says, guilt bubbling up.

“You’re sorry?” she says, letting out a half-laugh. “I nearly tore the place apart trying to find you before I finally stumbled upon your little note. Here I was thinking you were stolen away or tortured to death, but you _ran away.”_

“I know I hurt you,” Louis starts, eyes burning with tears when she scoffs, turning away. 

“I had to buy a horse, Louis. Do you know how expensive that is? How many weeks of supper down the drain it was? And then I had to track you down, stopping at every inn and shop on the way to ask if they’ve seen you,” she says, volume amplifying with each word. “It was sheer luck I found someone that recognized your description and that I was able to catch up to you. I haven’t slept in days because I’ve been worried sick over you and here you are, skipping through a meadow.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Louis repeats, shame curling up his throat and squeezing his lungs. 

“We’re going home,” she says firmly. “I am dirty and tired and in dire need of a singing session.” She gestures to the sagging lines on her face. “Do you see these? Do you see these horrors on my face? I ache greatly. Get your stuff.” 

“Wait,” Louis blurts, panic smoldering through him. He can’t go back. He can’t, he can’t. “You don’t understand. I’ll sing for you right now but I can’t go back yet,” he says, trying to find the words to make her see and understand that she was wrong - wrong about him and a lot of other things. “I’ve been on the most incredible journey. I’ve seen and learned so much. And I’ve met people. I met… someone special.” He doesn’t look over across the green to where Harry is still laying peacefully, not wanting to draw him to Mother’s eye of sight when she’s still white with anger. 

“Oh, please,” she scoffs. She rips a paper from her cloak and Louis’ heart stutters when he realizes it’s the wanted poster, Harry’s face printed on its crumpled front. “I know all about your _Harry Styles._ A wanted fugitive, I’m _so_ proud.” 

“No, he’s not - you don’t know him,” Louis says, shaking his head. “He’s not just a thief. He’s the one who’s been guiding me to the capital city. He’s my friend.” 

“He’s a lowlife,” Mother spits. “And you went off with him without a second glance. Do you see why I’m so skeptical, Louis. When you do things like this? Thank God he hasn’t hurt you.” 

“He wouldn’t,” Louis says instantly, forcefully. “He’s _good._ He’s kind and he’s smart. He cares about me.” 

“He cares about you? Louis - oh God, don’t tell me,” Mother says, looking disgusted. “Don’t tell me you _love_ him.”

“No,” Louis sputters, shaking his head violently. The accusation rings in his head, a flush dusting his cheeks. _Love, love, love._ “He’s my _friend,_ Mother. I don’t -” He breaks off, stammering. 

Mother just laughs. Loud and mean. “Oh, darling,” she says. “I knew you were naive, but I didn’t think you were this stupid.” 

He blinks, the words feeling like a blow to the stomach. “What’re you talking about?”

“You went and fell for the first man you met, Louis!” she says, speaking to him as if he was a child. _“Of course,_ you’re entranced by him. You have nothing to compare him to. He’s just a pitiful thief and he’s already got you wrapped around his finger. That was probably his plan the whole time.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis says fiercely. 

“I don’t?” she says, sounding almost amused. “Darling, he’s bewitched you. It’s been a few days and you’re already defending him like he’s the king of the kingdom! He doesn’t care about you at all, sweetheart. This is exactly what I was talking about - you have _no idea_ what it’s like in the real world. You have no idea how to recognize dangerous people like him.” 

He thinks of Harry. Harry, the thief who guards his vulnerability with an almost impenetrable fortress but still opens up to Louis as best he can. Harry, who’s taught Louis so much, patiently explaining things and answering questions. Harry, who’s learned from him in return. Harry, who thinks he’s beautiful and who makes him feel safe. Harry, who _believes_ in him. Harry, who’s never treated him like anything but an equal, never treated him as if he were useless and weak. Harry, who promised him many more adventures. 

“You’re wrong,” he says. Steady. Sure. 

“Am I?” Mother sneers, smile too wide, too cruel. “Little Louis has got it all figured out, does he?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Louis says, shaking his head. “You were right. I didn’t know what it was like in the real world and I wasn’t prepared when I decided to go on this journey. But I spent the past four days here in the real world and I’ve _thrived,_ Mother. I may not know everything and I may make mistakes, but I learn from them and I learn from experiences. I’ve had so many experiences and I want to keep having them. It has nothing to do with Harry or anyone else. This is about _me._ This is about what I want, and I want to see the lanterns. And I want to stay with Harry. You’re wrong about him.” He hesitates before adding, “You're wrong about a lot of things.” 

“Louis, that’s enough,” Mother says, teeth grit. “We’re going home.”

“No,” Louis says. “Not until I see the lanterns.” _Or even after that,_ he thinks, but decides not to push it just yet. He needs to make her understand that she underestimated him. “I’ve made it this far and I want to keep going. Harry will take me to see the lanterns and then we’ll come back to the tower and we can talk. That’s what I want.” 

“I see,” Mother says, words brittle against his ears. She pulls a bag out of her cloak and tosses it to his feet. He freezes, taking in the familiar leather satchel. “Oh, right, I brought a little something with me. Such a pretty crown, isn’t it?”

Heart thundering in his ears, Louis’ hands shake as he grabs the bag and picks it up, sliding a hand under the flap. His fingers brush over cool metal and he exhales. 

“That’s what he stole, right?” she asks. “Why he agreed to this little excursion of yours?”

He swallows, throat suddenly dry. 

“You said he cares about you, hm?” she says, moving closer and closer until she can reach out and lift his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Then put him to the test. Give him back his precious crown and we’ll see just how much he truly values you.”

“He -” Louis trails off, a trickle of doubt sprouting in the base of his stomach and pulsing painfully. He glances down at the crown. _It’s my way out._

_My dream has always just been getting out._

“Ah, not so bold now,” Mother coos. “You’ll give him the crown back and he’ll no longer have a reason to help you. Your dear _friend_ will leave you stranded. Your heart will be broken and guess who’ll be there to pick up the pieces?” Her fingers press unforgivingly into his jaw, keeping him from looking away. “You’ll see soon enough, darling. Mother always knows best.”

She backs away, leaving him frozen in place. It’s only when she’s gotten back onto her horse, reins in her hands and hood pulled up, that he’s able to move, but even then he’s still as he watches her ride away, disappearing in a trail of black. 

He stands there for five minutes, waiting for the erratic beat of his heart to ease and for his hands to stop shaking. He can’t stop hearing Harry’s words replaying over and over in his head. 

Before he even realizes it, he’s sunk to the ground, knees pulled to his chest, tremors wracking his body with every sob that tears through his throat and spills from his lips. 

Pascal scampers up to his shoulder and nuzzles into his ear, trying to comfort him, but even he can’t solve the predicament Louis had found himself in. 

By the time Harry wakes up, Louis has packed up all their stuff, all signs of tears and panic washed away in the cool water of the brook. He musters up his best smile when Harry asks if he’s alright, but it feels flimsy, cracking at the corners of his mouth and prickling in his eyes. Thankfully, Harry doesn’t seem to notice. 

They get back onto the road and Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s middle as tight as he can, as if keeping him close enough would mean that he’d never leave, that he’d never run. 

Harry keeps talking about the capital and how incredible it is, describing the palace and the streets and a million other details that Louis wishes would make him excited rather than full of dread. Still, he responds as normally as possible, pretending that the bitter guilt isn’t sour on his tongue, tainting his mouth for good. 

Guilt, because Louis doesn’t tell Harry about his mother’s visit. More importantly, he doesn’t tell Harry about the bag he stuffed into his own bag before he woke up. He doesn’t tell Harry. He doesn’t put him to the test. He just basks in his proximity and his smell and his voice. 

It’s just a precaution, he tells himself. A precaution to ensure their deal gets upheld. A precaution, because he can’t let himself acknowledge the truth, because he can’t admit to himself that he’s scared that Mother is right and he is as naive as she said. He can’t admit to himself that he is _scared._

Scared that Harry doesn’t care about him as much as it feels like when he gives Louis that soft smile or touches him reassuringly. Scared that he doesn’t believe in Louis at all. Scared that every thread of trust between them is nothing but a web of lies. 

So instead, he pretends that everything is normal. He laughs when Harry says something funny and listens interestedly when he points out different landmarks, all containing their own story, a new facet of the enigma of Harry Styles that Louis treasures and savors. 

He finds himself leaning more and more of his weight on Harry as time goes on, realizing his fear of embarrassment is far outmatched by his fear of their time together - their _friendship -_ having an end date. It’s strange, Louis thinks, being this attached to another person after such little time together, so much so that you’re willing to lie to stay in their life just a little while longer. It’s strange, but Louis feels no regret, only sadness. 

His secret lays buried at the bottom of his rucksack as the kingdom jewel comes into view on the horizon, growing bigger and more tangible with every passing second. Standing tall and proud against the sky, Louis sees the gleaming gold of the palace appear, as if pulled straight from his favorite fairytale. 

They’ve made it to the city.

-


	2. part ii

Harry has a fickle relationship with the city. 

When he first made it past the gate, a lanky and skinny fourteen year old with stars in his eyes, he had been amazed. That Harry was a lot brighter in some ways - younger, more optimistic, maybe a bit too naive, but full of good intentions. 

He remembers gazing up at the palace walls in awe, seeing the rows of royal guards standing at attention, tracking everyone with steady eyes. He remembers looking up at the lofty towers and imagining what it’d be like to grow up in a place like this, to have the entire kingdom at your fingertips. 

That was before he understood the true barrier between those who lived beyond those gilded parapets and ramparts and those who didn’t. That was before he understood what it was like to have to fight to survive every day, grasping for pieces of straw while others born behind the gates bathed in gold. 

Harry had been young when he first went into the city, on an outing with the other children in the orphanage, ready to see the world and experience things. He had been young that first time, but that was a long, long time ago. 

And nearly seven years later, he stares across at the now familiar arch of marble that signifies the entrance to the city, he feels every memory - every imprint of suffering, of loneliness, and of independence - twinge inside him, pulsing like an open wound. Now when he looks at the bells that passersby can reach up and ring with a tug on the chain, he sees his phantom younger self. He sees what’s been taken from him.

His youth, his innocence, his untarnished joy of life. 

It’s Louis that snaps him out of his haunted reverie, bouncing on his toes and practically vibrating in his eagerness as he tugs on Harry’s sleeve. There’s excitement and anticipating thrumming in every twitch of his limbs, like he’d float up right up into the sky if not for the grip he has on Harry’s arm. This is his first time to the city, Harry thinks, so he musters up his own smile when Louis looks up at him. 

“Welcome to the capital,” he murmurs. 

Louis’ grin is dazzling. No hint of muted sorrow or buried memories, just pure untouched excitement. He shoots off across the bridge without a second of hesitation, leaving Harry to shake his head amusedly and follow. 

The bell rings loud and proud when Louis tugs the tasseled string, a look of wonder on his face as the peals echo across the open air, announcing their presence to the passersby around them. Harry pulled on his cloak a bit ago, not willing to take any chances when there was sure to be posters plastered with his face scattered across the entire city. He shouldn’t even be here in the first place, shouldn’t be tempting fate with a rookie mistake such as returning to the scene of a crime, shouldn't be risking a price he can’t afford to pay. 

But here he is, stepping into the city without hesitation, Louis by his side. And, he realizes quite shockingly, he wants to be here. For such a profound revelation, Harry does not falter. 

He’s too busy looking at Louis as they move further down the main street, townspeople milling around on all sides, none of them looking their way. Everywhere Harry looks, he sees happy faces, the air of celebration heavy around them. It’s the Sun Prince’s birthday tomorrow and though none of these people ever knew him, they gather every year without fail for days to honor his memory. 

Garlands wind across storefronts, full with blooms of all colors, vibrant red to soft white. The smell of baked goods wafts through the air, jubilant music drifting in from street corners and filling his ears. Petals are strewn across the cobblestones, sticking to their shoes as they delve deeper and deeper into the square. Everywhere he looks, he sees wide smiles and flushed cheeks, people dancing and chatting and radiating nothing but pure joy. Banners of violet and gold strung across the streets, tied to windows and swaying in the breeze. All around him, he sees dozens of familiar gilded emblems: the royal Coronian sun. 

“It’s perfect,” Louis says, sighing happily. 

Normally, Harry would protest, telling Louis that it’s certainly not always this bright and gleaming here in the city. That this is just a temporary lull in the gloom. But he can’t bring himself to do anything to compromise the excitement on Louis’ face, choosing to just nod and smile when Louis directs his beam to him. 

The sensation still feels a bit unnatural, stretching at the corners of his mouth. _Smiling_ still feels a bit unnatural to him - genuine ones at least. But he’s been smiling more lately than he ever has before. There’s really only one reason why. 

When he looks at Louis, when he looks at the way he gazes at everything so carefully and thoroughly, trying to take in every detail and remember it, Harry can’t help but let some of the giddiness bleed to him, let the smile on his lips grow a bit stronger, weight easing from his shoulders. 

With Louis, everything feels brand new. 

It’s something he realized over the course of the past few days. 

Louis plunges on ahead before he can suggest a plan for how to proceed. There’s so many things to see and do, and Harry wants Louis to experience as much of it as possible tonight and tomorrow. For now, he shakes his head and follows indulgently, guiding Maximus with a heavy hand on the rein and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Louis lest he loses him in the growing crowd. 

Harry finds him peering at a booth where dozens of pastries and baked goods are on display, frosted delicacies and golden bread all smelling like heaven. He can recognize the want on his face, pulling out some coins from his bag and passing them to the lady. “A loaf of bread,” he says, following Louis’ eyes to the cupcake decorated in purple frosting and embellished with a candy sun. He smiles. “And a cupcake, please. Thank you.” 

She gives him both items and he passes the cupcake to Louis who stares at it in wonder. “It’s good,” Harry says. “Sweet. Try it.”

Louis nods, hesitantly raising it to his lips and taking a small dainty bite. His eyes widen in surprise, mouth forming an O, before he takes another, bigger bite. “It’s delicious,” he says, crumbs sticking to his lips.

Biting back a smile, Harry reaches out and wipes a smudge of frosting off the corner of Louis’ mouth with a gentle thumb. Louis blinks at him with wide blue eyes, and suddenly he feels too exposed, retracting his hand and clearing his throat. 

“You just had a little -” He trails off, embarrassed.

“Thanks, H,” Louis says, continuing to eat his cupcake without a care in the world. 

Harry tears off a chunk of his bread, stuffing it into his mouth and sighing in satisfaction. If someone were to ask him what his favorite food was in all the land, he’d without a doubt say bread. It’s simple and overlooked, but it’s something Harry has savored his whole life. 

“Back in Illas,” he says slowly, feeling Louis turn to look at him, undoubtedly giving him his full attention, “there was this baker whose shop was down the street from the orphanage. He used to give me and some of the other boys some leftover bread with marmalade or jam. We were only getting soup and spoiled fruit for meals so those pieces of bread tasted like heaven.” 

“I love bread,” is what Louis says back, and Harry doesn’t even try to hold back his smile this time. It may seem like a strange response, but Harry can see the understanding behind it, the solidarity. And he appreciates it deeply. 

“There’s a few things we can do before finding dinner, but there is a Coronian tradition that I feel will appeal to you,” he says, clearing his throat and thinking back to Louis’ tower and the paintings and drawings covering every wall. “Closer to the center of town, they close off the streets and let everyone draw on the cobblestone with chalk.”

“Chalk?” Louis asks, but he sounds intrigued. 

Harry tries to think of a way to explain it but comes up short. “I’ll show you,” he says. 

Weaving their way through the throngs of townspeople proves to be difficult but Harry grabs Louis’ hand and tightens his grip on the rein, keeping his head ducked low as they make their way deeper into the city. 

Though Harry knows his way through the streets well enough, he also knows that with all the chaos and madness that there’s going to be plenty of palace guards around and sure enough, the more they walk, the more familiar armored men travelling in small patrols he sees, the Coronian sun insignias gleaming on their chest plates. 

“Should we be hiding?” Louis asks, voice dropping to a whisper. 

Harry shakes his head. “I’ll keep my face covered,” he says. “But you’ll be fine. None of these are part of Payne’s company so they won’t know about anyone travelling with me yet. They’re all city guards.” 

Louis nods, but still looks nervous. 

“Almost there,” Harry says after a minute, steering Louis to follow the crowd of people moving towards Main street. There’s a lot more kids running around here, giggles ringing out into the air as they dodge passersby and throw flower petals from their hands. 

Main street, quite aptly named, is the widest street in the city, stretching from one side straight to the palace gates. It’s been cordoned off with fences that have glimmering lights curling around them. Harry gives his remaining coins to a boy to watch Maximus, and then they pass through one of the arches and into the square. 

All around them, townspeople ranging from young to old are crouched close to the ground, bright streaks of color staining the cobblestone as people draw images of lanterns and suns and flowers and whatever else their heart desires. 

Harry spots the stand where buckets of chalk are located, gesturing for Louis to follow. Louis sifts through them wonderingly, picking out a stick and widening his eyes when he realizes the color has bled onto his palm. From Harry’s perspective, chalk is one of the most standard child’s toys for kids from all backgrounds so it’s a bit strange to see Louis so mind-boggled by its existence. He’s never seen or heard of it before, he has to remind himself. He never got the chance to.

Even after all these days, it hasn’t gotten easier to process and accept that Louis has been living in that tower his entire life with no one but his mother. It’s because of Louis’ magic, Harry knows, but it still doesn’t seem _right_ to him. Alas, he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t truly know Louis’ relationship with his mother no matter how troubling it may appear; he already made the mistake of expressing his concern once after all. 

“Are you going to draw?” Louis asks him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He’s moved to gathering as many colors as he can grab. 

“Not much of an artist,” Harry shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But you have fun.” 

He finds an empty spot in the distance for Louis to draw, following him when he races on ahead, eager to start drawing. 

“This is the longest I’ve gone without painting,” Louis says once he’s settled on the ground, sticks of chalk spread out in front of him. “It’s always been part of my daily routine.” 

“What are you going to draw?” Harry asks, genuinely curious. 

Louis hums, a little furrow forming between his brows as he thinks about it. “I dunno yet,” he says, shrugging. “Sometimes I just start and see what happens.” 

So he does. He picks up the green chalk and starts drawing a line, tongue in his cheek as he works. Harry feels a bit awkward just standing and staring but he’s curious to see what Louis does, curious about the way his mind works. 

Pascal peeks his head out of Louis’ rucksack, letting out a sound that can only be described as excitement as he hops out and scurries to where Louis is finishing up his sketch of a flower. 

He glances up at Harry. “Are you just going to stand there?” he asks.

Harry blinks, _yes_ on the tip of his tongue. He shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he says honestly.

“How about you draw something?” Louis asks.

Letting out a sharp, surprised laugh, Harry shakes his head. “I told you I’m not much of an artist,” he protests. 

“When’s the last time you tried?” Louis arches a brow.

“Not sure,” Harry says, grimacing as he tries to remember. “Years and years ago.” 

Louis blinks at him and then holds out the yellow stick of chalk expectantly.

Rationally, Harry knows he can reject it. He knows he can refuse and just continue watching, but for some reason, he finds himself relenting, crouching down and taking the offered stick. 

“I don’t know what to draw,” he says awkwardly. 

“Draw something yellow,” Louis says impatiently. “Like the sun. Or a flower.” 

Harry frowns, and reluctantly brings his chalk to the cobblestone, drawing a pitiful excuse for a circle. Trying to fix it, he attempts to make it resemble the Coronian emblem, struggling with the design. When he finishes, he turns to see Louis holding back a laugh. “Oh, cut it out,” he complains. “I tried my best.” 

Louis opens his mouth and then immediately starts laughing, and Harry should feel offended but instead he feels breathless. There’s something about the way he does it, a hand pressed to his mouth as if trying to muffle the sound, that has Harry faltering, senses malfunctioning for an unsteady few seconds. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis breathes, still trying to catch his breath. “It’s a perfectly good sun. Thank you for trying.” He then returns back to his own drawings, completely unaware of the way Harry has frozen up. He has to deliberately drag his gaze away, feeling an unfamiliar twisting inside him. 

It’s not completely foreign to him - the feeling blossoming in his chest. He recognizes it well enough, but that only worries him more. It’s wildly inconvenient, is the thing - the way he can’t stop thinking of Louis’ laugh and wondering what it’d be like to hear it every day for the rest of his life. Very inopportune and troublesome. But it’s not the first time he’s felt these feelings, both on this trip and in the past. 

Harry may consider himself a lone wolf but he’s no stranger to feelings such as attraction and lust; _want._ He’s had his fair share of desperate hazy nights with faceless figures, for sure, but he’s never had a lover - never been in love. He resigned himself to his loneliness a long time ago, has settled for it even. 

But… He glances at Louis briefly before looking away just as fast, heart beating unsteadily. There’s something about Louis that draws him in. 

There’s no doubt he’s beautiful, of course - features fine and enchanting, all blue eyes and soft hair and pink lips. But that’s not what’s getting to Harry the most. It’s not what’s making him feel this inexplicable warmth bloom in his stomach, or what has the ability to pull a smile from Harry’s lip in seconds. It’s got nothing to do with his appearance at all.

It doesn’t make it any less dangerous, Harry thinks, grimacing. Because strange connection or not, there is no potential down that tempting path. Not when both of their futures are so unsure. Not when Louis has been sheltered and isolated his entire life and barely knows the first thing about friendship let alone relationships. Frankly, it’d be wrong of Harry to try and instigate something there, to shift Louis’ perception of the world more than he already has. 

Snapping himself out of it, he shoots to his feet. 

Louis glances at him in alarm, pausing the drawing he’s just started that bears a likeness to Pascal. He frowns in question. 

“I’m going to go ask around for somewhere to stay tonight,” Harry blurts, before realizing that he really ought to do that anyway. It’s getting late now, and soon they’d have to find some dinner too. There’s plenty of inns he’s stayed at in previous visits but those owners _know_ him which means he can’t risk it this time. He needs to find somewhere new. “I’ll be close by,” he adds after a second. “Keeping an eye out. Just holler if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis says, nodding. “I’m fine, H. Promise.” He gives Harry a soft smile. 

He nods jerkily, turning around and exhaling. _Inn,_ he reminds himself. He scans the square, eyes landing on a booth with the words ‘local assistance’ printed on the banner hanging above it. 

For such a big holiday, people from all over the kingdom travel to Corona to celebrate, often staying till the end of December to celebrate the New Year as well. With the influx of visitors, it makes sense that townspeople take advantage of the ignorance and lack of knowledge to earn a little extra cash.

The girl at the booth is talking to a man and his wife, taking their offered coins with a smile. Harry digs out his remaining coins too. They’re running low on money which means he’ll have to do some pickpocketing later so he makes a mental note. 

While he waits, he shoves his hands into his pockets and looks around. There’s a booth next to this one that’s selling paintings. He admires a beautiful one of the coast and another of the palace, before he sees a painting of the royal family. It’s not an uncommon thing to find being sold, though Harry always has wondered how many citizens truly hang up these sorts of portraits in their homes and _why._

His eyes wander over the familiar figures of King Marcus and Queen Josephine, taking in their regal and composed expressions. His eyes trail over to the baby held in her majesty’s arms, frowning. 

The king and queen supposedly named their son, but that precious information has never been shared with the public, too personal and raw to have spoken aloud by everyone across the kingdom. Instead it’s _lost prince_ or _sun prince_ he’s remembered by, fitting in a way since he was taken one fateful day and his true name was stolen along with it. 

There’s a sailor’s song that Harry has heard belted from the docks as men waxed their boats and drank barrels of ale from lands far away. _With eyes of blue, hair of gold, the sun prince will come dancing. Dancing, dancing, dancing down the streets of Corona, hey!_

He returns back to studying the rendering of the prince. There is no truly accurate painting of the missing heir, just careful guesses and assumptions. Harry wonders if the king and queen even remember exactly what he looks like and comes to the conclusion that it’s likely they do not. It makes him sadder than he expected. 

“Curious about the sun prince?” a voice says, and he startles.

The couple before him has finished, nowhere to be seen. And now the girl at the booth is leaning up in her elbows, giving Harry a knowing look. “Uh… what?” he asks. 

“Hiya, I’m Mindy,” she says with a smile. “I said: are you curious about the sun prince? Though, to be fair, I reckon we’re all curious about him to some extent. It’s like he’s a myth.”

“I… uh, well,” Harry says awkwardly. He shakes his head. “I guess so,” he admits, surprised to find it true. He’s never been anything but irritated by the mention of the lost prince, but there’s something about it… 

“I just find it interesting… it doesn’t matter how many paintings or drawings you see or descriptions you hear… the eyes and the hair are always right,” Mindy says. “You know the story, I’m sure. Eyes bluer than the depths of the Oblivio Sea, hair brighter than Coronian gold.” 

Harry spares a glance back at the painting, blue strokes blurring in his mind as his heart stutters. “Yeah,” he says belatedly, but Mindy doesn’t notice anything amiss. 

_The eyes and the hair._

“There’s an exhibit about him at the Museum,” Mindy says, snapping him out of his trance. “But apparently someone stole the couronné de soleil straight out from their noses. Crazy, right?”

Harry licks his lips, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I heard about that,” he says flatly. He slides the coins towards her. “Um, actually what I wanted to ask about was an inn to stay at for tonight. Some place cheap… by the water?” Normally he stays as far away from the water as he can get on his trips so it seems like a wise decision to switch it up this time, laying low in a place he’s never been seen before. 

Mindy hums, writing down an address. “Go straight down Ophelia for a ways until you see Delia’s dress shop. Then you take a right and walk until you see the sea. Stanton’s will be right there. They’re going to be busy though so don’t expect more than a single bed.” 

“That’s alright,” he nods. Louis will take the bed and he’ll sleep on the floor again. 

Louis is still drawing when he makes his way back, having moved a bit away when he filled up the previous ground space with flowers and Pascal and lanterns. He doesn’t notice Harry’s presence until he clears his throat, head snapping up in surprise. 

In that moment, Harry forgets what he was going to say, words withering on his tongue as he meets Louis’ eyes. He’s always found them pretty but they look startlingly blue in this instance. His hair has been brushed back from his face but a few strands fall over his forehead anyway, their color a soft and golden brown.

Except… when he’s singing. 

_The eyes and the hair._ He exhales. 

“Uh, Harry? Is everything okay?” Louis asks gently, sounding concerned. 

Harry shakes off the daze, swallowing the brittleness in his throat. _There’s no way._ “Sorry, just got lost there for a second. I’m fine,” he promises, the smile he forces right after feeling stretched and ingenuine. “I found us somewhere to stay tonight but it’s a long walk,” he reveals. “On the bright side, it’s right by the shore.”

Louis lights up. “I get to see the sea?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, unable to help but grin for real this time. “We can go tomorrow. Just don’t ask me to take you fishing.” 

“Okay,” Louis giggles. 

He collects his chalk and they return it to the stand, going to find Maximus. Harry tilts his head away whenever they pass by royal guards, wondering what would happen if they looked a little too closely. 

It was never the plan to come back here. He was never supposed to return to the Capital. In fact, he would have been out of Corona by now, freed of the ghosts of his past and the uncertainty of his future. Free to stop _running._

But instead he’s here on his journey with someone that makes him smile more than he’s ever smiled before. He’s here in the capital hiding from his crimes, but also hiding from himself. 

-

It’s dark when they make it to the inn, but that doesn’t stop Louis from gasping at the sight of the moonlit waters behind the establishment. 

Harry has to physically hold him back from running towards it, feeling a strong pull in the center of his chest tugging him to the gentle lapping of the waves. The terror from their fiasco back at the canyon has completely vanished, nothing but awe in his mind. 

“Tomorrow,” Harry promises him.

Louis reluctantly surrenders, following Harry up to book a room. His stomach is full from the delicious dinner they had at what Harry called a ‘restaurant,’ or a place where they could order food from a ‘menu’ that listed a variety of seafood. Louis had never eaten anything from under water so he let Harry choose for both of them, blown away by the foreign but delectable tastes that he experienced for the first time. 

He asked Harry if they could go back tomorrow too and he agreed. Now, they’ve finally arrived at the inn. Louis stays behind as Harry talks to the owner who eventually passes him a key ring. 

They find their room closer to the back of the building and Harry unlocks the door to let Louis in first. It’s a smaller room than the last one but still nice, thick blankets stacked at the foot of the single bed and window open wide to the sea and sky. 

“I’ll take the floor again,” Harry says.

Louis frowns, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure?” he asks, patting the mattress appreciatively. “It’s more comfortable than the last one.”

“You should take it,” Harry insists. “I told you I’m used to it.”

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean you deserve it,” Louis says, words slipping out before he can think it through. At Harry’s surprised expression, he rushes, “Maybe we can share?”

Harry stills, mouth twisting. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he says slowly.

“Why not?” Louis asks, confused. He glances at the mattress which is definitely big enough to fit two bodies. “We can both fit.”

“It’s -” Harry stops short, looking almost flustered. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I really have no issue sleeping on the floor.”

Louis glances down at the hard wood, shaking his head. “Just share with me,” he says, not understanding why Harry is hesitating. “I’m sure.” 

It’s almost like Harry is ready to protest some more before he tilts his head, lips pursing. “Okay,” he says unevenly. “Alright.” 

They don’t talk much as they get ready for bed, the exhaustion after a long day catching up with them as they take turns in the bathroom to change and wash away the grime and dirt from their travel.

It’s a bit difficult to comprehend that today when he saw the city for the first time and drew with chalk and ate fish and saw the ocean was the same day Mother found them at the meadow and left him with a warning. Her words reverberate in his mind as he washes his face, staring at the smudged reflection of his troubled face in the small mirror tacked above the sink. 

He had done his best to ignore it after they arrived in the capital, and for a while it genuinely worked, but now as he’s free to his own thoughts, the worries surface to his mind in full force. 

His eyes drift to the rucksack he dropped unceremoniously by the bed, heart going a bit unsteady. For one heightened second, he feels that anyone would be able to see right through the fabric to the crown that lays buried inside. The guilt smoulders in his stomach and he tamps it down with a grimace. 

Harry is standing awkwardly by the bed when Louis returns, expression unreadable. He nearly jumps when Louis clears his throat. 

“Are you going to lay down?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Yeah,” Harry says instantly, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll take the right if you don’t mind. It’s closer to the door.”

Louis hums his assent, moving around to the left side of the bed and lifting the cotton covers to slide in. Harry flicks off the light before he too slips into the bed.

It takes about a few seconds to realize that Louis did not think this through. 

The bed is much bigger than the bed back in Rienville but it’s still smaller than he thought. Or maybe Harry is bigger than he thought. Whatever it is, Louis finds himself inches from Harry’s face.

He can just barely make out the outline of his eyes under the faint moonlight filtering in from the window, and he shifts restlessly when he realizes the weight of Harry’s gaze is directed to _him._

For some reason, he feels pinned in place, the space between them sparking with something unfathomable. There’s a rather peculiar feeling sprouting inside him too, making him feel a bit off-centered and lost. 

“Is everything okay?” Harry asks, voice dropping to a whisper. His timbre is low and gentle, and it sinks into Louis and makes him shiver. 

“Fine,” he squeaks, feeling his cheeks burn up. He’s never been more grateful for the cover of darkness than this moment. _What’s wrong with me?_ he wonders. He’s never felt anything like this before, like heat is slowly spreading across his body and burning him alive, like he wants to simultaneously shift closer to the warmth radiating from Harry’s body and as far away as possible. He can’t get comfortable, mattress suddenly too lumpy and pillow too hard. 

In his jitteriness, he finds himself blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Does this sort of remind you of that story?” 

He can’t quite see Harry’s reaction but he imagines him to be furrowing his brows, lips flattening in confusion. “What story?”

“It’s about a prince who was looking for a princess. A real princess,” Louis whispers, feeling a bit stupid. “He travelled the whole world and met all sorts of princesses but none of them were real.”

“Never heard of it,” Harry admits. He doesn’t sound annoyed, only intrigued. “What’d he do then?”

“He went back to the castle and moped,” Louis says, smiling when Harry scoffs. “But then one day there was a storm. One with lots of thunder and lightning.”

“Doesn’t sound like Corona,” Harry mutters.

“That’s because it’s not,” Louis says. “It’s another kingdom, far far away. A kingdom where it does storm. And during the storm, a knock came at the door. It was a princess, soaking wet and sick from the cold.”

“Don’t tell me,” Harry says dryly. “Is she a real princess?”

Louis shushes him. “Just listen, okay? The prince was entranced by her beauty and her voice, but he still didn’t know if she were a true princess. His mother - the queen - had an idea of how to find out having nothing but a pea.”

“A pea?” Harry says incredulously. “What in Corona is she going to do with that?”

“Patience,” Louis scolds. “She took the pea and placed it on the mattress of a bed and then ordered the maid to stack twenty mattresses on top of it. Then she led the princess to the bed and told her she could sleep there for the night.”

“Twenty mattresses?” Harry says, sounding confused. 

“The next morning, the princess came to breakfast looking exhausted and miserable,” Louis says, voice dipping quieter and quieter. “The queen asked her how she slept and she said terrible. She said that there was something hard that kept poking her back and didn’t let her sleep.”

 _“What?”_ Harry says, and though he’s still whispering, Louis can hear the surprise in his voice.

“She felt the pea through twenty mattresses,” Louis nods even though Harry can’t see. “She passed the test to prove she’s a real princess. The prince married her by Spring.”

“Okay, hold on a second,” Harry says. “That doesn’t make _any_ sense.”

“It’s a fairy tale,” Louis tells him, shoulders rising to his ears in a half-shrug.

“Still,” Harry says, sounding almost indignant. “This bastard chose his wife from a _vegetable.”_

Louis giggles despite himself, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the loud sound. “Peas are legumes, not vegetables,” he corrects, still smiling. “It is stupid though.” 

“Do you read a lot of fairy tales?” Harry asks softly.

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “I read a lot of things but fairy tales are my favorite. Mother -” He breaks off, word tasting sour on his tongue. “She doesn’t like that I read so many of them because she says they’re filled with nonsense and nothing like real life but I love them.” 

Harry is quiet for a moment before saying, “I think fairy tales are nice because they give people hope to find their own happy endings.” He pauses, seeming to mull it over a bit more. “She's right. They’re nothing like real life, but I’ve always found that the whole point of reading is to escape real life for a little while. And why not do that in a world where all it takes is a pea to find love.”

Louis bites his lip, an unexpected rush of something inexplicable filling his lungs - Harry _understands._ “Harry,” he says unsurely after a moment. 

“Mm?”

“Do you… do you believe in true love?” Louis blurts. It’s a concept he’s read about time and time again in countless different stories. It’s a concept that’s always entranced him, the idea of having someone so foreign and appealing to a boy as lonely as him. 

Lonely. Louis realizes it’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged the feeling by name - that raw and hollow ache in his lungs and in the cavity of his heart that he’s spent nineteen years trying to ignore. That heaviness to his throat that he hasn’t felt since he left the tower. 

“I… I think I do,” Harry says then, slow and careful. “For some people at least.”

His next question comes off as soft as a breath. “Have you ever been in love?” _Love, love, love._

Harry’s answer comes out quickly, and Louis wishes he could see his face properly - wishes he could see the look in his eyes. “No.” It sounds a bit wistful. 

Louis pauses, the lack of hesitation in Harry’s answer bleeding to him, enveloping his next words. “Do… do you want to?”

Silence echoes his question. Harry is quiet for so long that Louis almost misses when he does answer, a layer of something hoarse in his voice that Louis can’t decipher. “One day,” he breathes. “One day, I’d like to.” 

He doesn’t ask another question, a wave of fatigue befalling him as he curls deeper into the sheets, drawing his knees up as he scrunches up in his prime sleeping position. He can hear as Harry’s own breaths grow more relaxed, body going lax and eyes fluttering shut. 

By the time Harry is asleep, Louis is fighting against the pull to his own dreams, thoughts of fairy tales and true love and hidden crowns whirling through his mind and submerging him in their tides. 

Louis drifts off into sleep with a final sigh. 

-

Flashes of hands and soft whispers and green eyes fill Louis’ dreams, weaving around him in a crushing embrace. They sink into him, seeping into his mind and burning at the backs of his eyelids. When Louis wakes up, the remnants are sticking to his skin. He shoots up with a sound. 

“Lou?” says a voice. 

He stiffens, cheeks burning as he remembers hearing the very same voice in his dreams, albeit in very different circumstances. Grasping for some semblance of calm, he slowly turns to look at Harry who’s sitting at the desk, a map spread out on the surface in front of him and a look of question on his face. 

“Good morning,” he blurts, voice a bit choked. 

Harry tilts his head, looking a bit confused. “Good morning.” 

Clearing his throat, Louis wills the flush to leave his face, sure he looks flustered and a bit crazed as he slides out of bed and pats the sheets awkwardly. “Uh, so… what time is it?” 

“Almost seven,” Harry says, glancing at the clock. “We should head for breakfast as soon as possible. There’s a bakery down the place I’m hoping to get to before they get their usual morning rush.” 

“Sounds good,” Louis chirps, lacing his hands together and then unlacing them and shoving them behind his back. He feels jittery and flustered, unsure what to do with himself. 

“Oh,” Harry says, straightening up. “Happy birthday!” 

Louis exhales, a grin overtaking his face. “I almost forgot,” he admits. “Thank you, Harry.” It’s his birthday today, he repeats to himself internally. He’s officially lived nineteen years. 

“Now hurry and get dressed,” Harry says. “I’ve got a plan and we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” 

“Really?” Louis asks, confused. “What plan?” 

“Today is your birthday,” Harry says, like it’s obvious. “I have to make sure it’s a good one.” 

“Oh,” he breathes, caught off guard. “You don’t have to do anything, seriously. Going to see the lights is already the best present I could ask for and there’s no need for anything else. It’s not a big deal, really. Just a regular day.” He stops abruptly, realizing he’s rambled. 

“Relax, Lou,” Harry says, looking amused. “We’re just going around the city to some places I feel like you’d like. That’s all.” 

Appeased, Louis untenses. “Okay, that’s fine,” he relents. “Thanks, Harry,” he adds again, smiling softly. 

“It’s nothing,” Harry brushes it off. He arches a brow. “Guess what our first stop is?” 

Louis furrows his brows, and then realizes, letting out a happy gasp. “Ocean!” he cheers. 

Harry chuckles, a smile curving his lips. “The faster we leave, the faster we can get there,” he says pointedly.

The speed at which Louis rushes to the bathroom is faster than he’s ever traveled before. 

-

The day passes in a series of small adventures. 

They had a lovely breakfast of berry crepes for breakfast before making their way to the shore where Louis finally got to see the vast ocean he’s only ever read about in stories, entranced by the expanse of blue that stretched as far as he could see, as if it’d reach the end of the world.

Dipping his toes into the water was an entirely different matter. It took him approximately three seconds to realize how bloody _cold_ it was, scrambling as far away as possible. 

Harry was amused, of course, but he eventually coaxed Louis into trying again, saying he’d get used to the temperature. He was right, admittedly. After the initial frigid shock, Louis adapted to the feeling and managed to venture far enough so the water was up to the calves, rolling his trousers up to below his knees. 

He _screamed_ when Harry flung a handful of water into him, the cold drenching the fabric of his shirt and seeping into his skin. Of course, it meant he had to retaliate with his own attack, and soon they were splashing each other and giggling like fools, the warm rays of the sun over their faces providing the only relief from the icy sprays. 

They walked along the shoreline afterwards and Harry showed Louis things called seashells, sand dollars, and sea glass which Louis admired. He picked his favorites out and tucked them into his bag to keep. Then he sat down and buried his toes in the sand to warm them, drawing pictures with the tips of his fingers while Harry rested and Pascal scampered around terrorizing flocks of birds. 

After a quick stop back at the inn to change into dry clothes, they had a delicious lunch at a nearby restaurant, and then Harry led him to their next destination: the city library.

Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t almost tear up upon entering and seeing the sheer amount of shelves lining the domed room, all stuffed to the brim with worn spines. He’s never seen this many books in his entire life, unable to contain his giddiness at the thought of all the knowledge and stories hidden away in their pages for him to find. 

And while unfortunately he can’t read every book on these shelves (but oh how he wishes he could), Harry promised that they could stay as long as he liked. And he does. 

He starts at one corner of the room and resolves himself to working all the way around, picking out books and flipping through their contents, skimming lines and retaining the words etched across their alabaster pages. He wishes that he had the kind of magic that would let him read every last line in a matter of seconds, but for now he settles for glimpses and snippets. Eventually he wanders to a shelf with rows of thick documentations of Corona’s history. 

“I love reading about history,” he sighs happily, tracing the spine of a book titled _Dawn Age in Corona._ His mother has brought him only a few history books from her travels, even though he’s always asked for more. “This one looks interesting.” 

“Which one?” Harry asks, appearing right behind him.

“Gosh,” Louis gasps, spinning around. He knew Harry was nearby, hands shoved into his pockets as he eyed a few of the books with interest, but last he saw, he was looking at a book a few shelves down. “How did you do that?”

Harry just shrugs. “I’m a thief. Being silent is sort of important.” He glances at the book Louis was looking at, humming. “Sounds a bit boring, if I’m being honest.”

“How much do you know about Coronian history?” Louis asks him, curious.

“Enough to know that we’re still making the same mistakes we were making decades ago… maybe with a little less bloodshed,” he says with a half smile. “Most of my knowledge of history comes from word of mouth. You’d be surprised by how many people there are in this kingdom who are consumed by the past.”

“Sometimes studying the past helps you in the future,” Louis shrugs. 

“True,” Harry nods. “But sometimes fixating too much on the past hinders your future.” 

“I guess it’s a bit of both then,” Louis murmurs. They smile at each other. 

He turns back to the shelves, only for Harry to clear his throat. “I honestly expected you to go straight to the fairy tale section since they’re your favorite,” he says.

Louis freezes. “What fairy tale section?” he asks, heart racing.

“Uh, the one over there,” Harry says, pointing across the room to a cluster of shelves that are decorated with paper flowers. There’s a few colored blankets spread out beside them, vibrant cushions scattered over them like a little reading haven. “Did you not realize?” he asks when Louis doesn’t respond, stunned.

“I didn’t think… Mother says fairy-tales are nonsensical,” he stutters. “I assumed a library wouldn’t have a section for nonsense.”

Something unreadable passes over Harry’s face but it disappears just as fast. “Well, this library does,” is all he says, grabbing Louis’ hand and leading him towards the shelves of Louis’ dreams. 

Hours later, Louis has read more fairy-tales than he ever thought existed. Tales about princesses and princes and dragons and witches. Fables about courage and bravery and family and love. He’s read about maidens with lush voices, princes that turn into beasts, and animals that speak more eloquently than humans. Now he’s taken a break from those whimsical stories in favor of dragging Harry across the room to where a map is tacked up onto the wall. 

It’s a map of the seven kingdoms: Corona, Saporia, Opavan, Nerova, Korolev, Rajeva, and Umbosa. Louis has seen plenty of maps of the world before, but this is by far the biggest, stretching from their knees up to well above their heads. He finds the Chrysó Dásos, tracing a finger to the heart of the forest about where his tower would be. 

Looking at it like this, Louis realizes just how small his old little home is compared to the vastness of the world. 

He glances at Harry who’s looking at Saporia, Corona’s bordering kingdom and once rival from ancient times. Suddenly he remembers that Harry is not planning to stay in Corona after their journey. He was on his way _out_ when he stumbled across Louis’ tower. An unexpected tightness forms in his chest and he clears his throat. 

“Is Saporia where you want to go after this?” he asks. 

Harry nearly jumps, glancing at him in surprise. He flicks his gaze back to the western kingdom. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Probably.” 

Throat dry, Louis’ eyes trail over the lines of Harry’s profile, lingering on the angle of his jaw and the curve of his throat. He turns back to the map, flustered. “I’ve always wondered what it’d feel like to travel to one of the Northern kingdoms where it snows.”

“We’ve grown up in a kingdom of eternal warmth,” Harry says, amused. “I imagine it’d be unbearable to endure.”

“But pretty,” Louis sighs wistfully. 

“There’s a small island off the coast of Rajeva,” Harry says after a moment, pointing to a small mass of land shaped almost like a heart. “I knew a guy from around there that moved to Corona when he turned eighteen. He said the sea cliffs on the beach and the way the sun disappears behind them when it sets is the most beautiful sight in the world.” He bites his lip. “There’s so many things I’d like to see.”

 _Me too,_ Louis thinks, but he doesn’t say it aloud. Of the two of them, Harry actually has the chance of going to all those places. And the crown laying at the bottom of his rucksack is his key. 

“I’m feeling hungry,” he blurts, stepping back from the map and clasping his hands. “What time is it?”

They both turn to find the carved wooden clock, elegant black hand brushing the six. 

“Evening,” Harry exhales, sounding surprised. Louis is too - it feels like time has slipped by so quickly. “We should head back to the square. There’ll be plenty of vendors selling cheap but good food and plus the festivities will have begun by now.”

“Festivities?” Louis asks, arching a brow.

Harry shoots him a smile. “How do you feel about dancing?”

-

If Louis thought Main street was alive yesterday, he thinks it’s positively _magical_ today. 

So many people are milling around, bodies brushing and shoulders knocking together despite his best dodging efforts. He is surrounded by a sea of different faces, people speaking and moving and living and breathing. So many people, more than he’s seen in his entire life.

Harry keeps a firm hold on his hand as they push through the crowds and Louis lets it anchor him, afraid that if he let go he’d be lost and maybe even trampled. His heart is pounding in his chest so loudly that he can feel it in his ears, eyes wide as he tries to take in as much as he can.

The people, the stalls, the flowers, the banners, the growing sound of music, the -

_Dancing._

They break out from the throngs to a more open area and Louis’ mouth drops open as he sees swishing skirts, arms locking together, bodies spinning around and around. The music is loud and jaunty, giddiness and cheer radiating from everyone around them.

“Do you want to go?” Harry asks him.

“Yes,” Louis says immediately, and then shakes his head. “But I don’t know how.”

“I don’t think you need to,” Harry says. 

Louis grimaces, looking over all the people with their different faces and quick, confident movements. “Maybe in a bit,” he says. 

A cacophony of giggles piques his attention and he turns to see a trio of young girls sitting one in front of the other, braiding flowers into each other’s long dark hair. On instinct, Louis’ hands lift to his own hair as if hoping to find braids. His mother has braided his hair in the past, mostly when he was younger, but she hasn’t done it in a long time. And she’s definitely never used flowers.

He nearly jumps when Harry suddenly steps forward, eyes determined. “Hey, girls,” he says with a smile. Then he holds up a handful of coins in one hand and points to Louis with the other.

Louis smiles awkwardly, even offering a small wave.

The girls exchange looks before nodding and gesturing for him to sit down. Suddenly excited, Louis folds his legs to mimic their positions and smiles when the girls all take turns shaking his hand and introducing themselves from oldest to youngest: Rya, Dorothea, and Annabelle.

They chat his ear off as they braid. Rya does his hair and Dorothea does Rya’s and Annabelle Dorothea’s. Louis does Annabelle’s - it’s not quite as complex as the braids they’re capable of but Annabelle informs him quite solemnly that she prefers the simple ones best anyway because they tug less at her head. 

While this is occurring, Harry tells him he’s going to take care of something (steal) and that he’ll be back in ten minutes. Louis brushed him off, all too happy to befriend the little girls, talking excitedly about fairy tales and painting and hair. He even brings Pascal out and has him change colors for the girls to ooh and ahh at, eyes wide as he shifts from violet to crimson to gold and any other hue they eagerly call out the names for. 

Harry returns right as they finish and Louis turns to show it off with a grin. “How does it look?” he asks excitedly.

There’s something unreadable that passes over his face before he smooths it over, smiling. “Absolutely beautiful.”

The conviction behind it has Louis blushing, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he mumbles, “It was all them.”

They say goodbye to the girls and Louis, suddenly feeling a lot more confident with his hair looking so fancy and the happiness-charged courage flowing through his system, decides he’s ready.

He doesn’t even let himself hesitate, plunging straight into the middle of the square. Almost immediately, he panics, regret bubbling up his insides and filling his mouth as his body freezes up.

But then a woman with a kind smile and a pink flower peeking out behind her ear grabs his hand and tugs him into a spin.

Suddenly, all traces of worry and fear fall alway and Louis succumbs to the music. He isn’t quite sure what he’s doing but he finds it doesn’t matter, twirling and swaying and moving completely on impulse. His heart is full with joy and excitement, lips unfurled to a permanent smile the longer he dances. 

On each round, he catches a glimpse of Harry who’s leaning up against a fountain with a soft smile on his face as he watches Louis. It has the potential to be unnerving or distracting but instead he feels… something akin to satisfaction and contentment under the attention.

He keeps gesturing for Harry to come and join too but Harry just keeps shaking his head in refusal. His current dance partner, a man with a toothy smile and a head of sandy colored locks notices and arches a brow. “Lover not into dancing?”

“Uh, what?” Louis stutters, nearly tripping over his own feet on the next step.

“Your lover doesn’t like the dance?” he repeats, looking amused.

“He’s not my lover,” Louis blurts, cheeks flooding with color. The man raises an eyebrow at that, clearly surprised. “And uh - no, I don’t think so.”

“Trick question,” the man says then, smiling widely. “The only people that don’t like to dance have never done it.” He spins Louis around and then turns, cupping his mouth with his hands and yelling, “Oi Loverboy, get over here, coward!” 

Harry stiffens, eyes widened in panic, and Louis groans, grabbing the stranger’s arm to stop him from yelling again.

“Don’t force it,” he says. “He doesn’t want to.”

The man smirks at him, sticking a finger out back in Harry’s direction. “Look again, love.”

Louis turns and nearly gapes when he sees Harry reluctantly making his way over. The man pats his shoulder before moving into the next partner. Technically, Louis should be moving along too but he finds himself rooted to the spot as Harry finds him. 

“Hey,” he says almost breathlessly. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” is all Harry says, but then he holds out a hand.

Feeling a peculiar fluttering in his heart, Louis takes it.

Dancing with Harry is an entirely new and entirely overwhelming experience. Just minutes ago he was lost in a daze, just letting the music guide him, but now he’s all too aware of every single one of his movements. 

It seems Harry is just as tense, limbs shifting unsurely as he tries to copy Louis’ motions. Every point of contact between them seems to burn and Louis can feel the imprints of Harry’s fingers in his waist distinctly, searing into his skin through the fabric. 

He’s _dizzy._ Unsteady and lightheaded, weak in the knees. The music fades out in his ears in favor of the erratic beating of his heart and all the people around them blur into indecipherable shapes. 

It feels like an eternity has passed and only a few seconds simultaneously, time bleeding into something unfathomable. Were they meant to switch partners a while ago? 

Really, it’s only a matter of immeasurable time fragments before Louis trips over a loose cobblestone and stumbles forward, knocking Harry off balance until he too careens and they collide with cut off gasps.

Of all potential injuries, it’s more shock than pain that has them sucking in breaths. Louis lifts his head right as Harry tilts his down and suddenly their noses are pressed together and the space between their lips seems like a hair’s breadth apart. 

For that moment, time truly doesn’t exist, threads unravelling between them and everything else vanishing except the movements of Harry’s eyelashes and the parting of his lips. In this moment, he has the desire to surge up and press their mouths together, wondering how it’d feel. 

An elbow bumping into his shoulder snaps him out of it, and he jolts back and out of Harry’s grasp. Harry too stumbles back, a light flush dusting his cheeks that seems invisible compared to what must be vibrant vermillion on Louis’. 

A random lady twirls into Harry and he grimaces, moving backwards and then turning and pushing through the crowd of onlookers to leave. Louis follows immediately, trying to calm the racing of his heart. 

“Sorry, Lou, I told you I’m not much of a dancer,” Harry says when they’ve put some distance between them and the music, lips twisting as he shakes his head apologetically. 

“It’s okay,” Louis squeaks. “I’m sorry for pressuring you.” 

“You didn’t,” Harry insists, pausing to grab his hand. “I did it all on my own.” 

Louis stares down at Harry’s hand holding his, feeling heat bleed from his palm to Louis’ fingers. He feels a strange sensation spread across his body, an urge to shiver rising inside him. “Okay,” he says belatedly, hoping his voice comes out even and not wobbly. 

Harry lets go and he has to clasp his hands together to keep from reaching back out. 

“Let’s find some dinner,” Harry says. “It’s getting late anyway and we should be heading out on the water before nine.” 

“Water?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah, we’re going out on a boat,” Harry says, smiling. “You’ve been waiting for this your entire life so I figured you should have a decent seat.” 

A bloom of warmth sprouts inside him, tugging his lips into a bright smile. “Thank you, Harry,” he says softly. “For all of this. For making this birthday the best day I’ve had in my life.” 

The smile Harry gives him just makes him feel more warm. “You’re very welcome, Louis,” he murmurs. “I told you, it’s been a pleasure.” 

_Meeting you has been a pleasure,_ Louis thinks, and then bites his lip. _Don’t tell me you love him._

_I knew you were naive but I didn’t think you were this stupid._

The memories echo in his mind, sharp and grating. But he looks at Harry who’s smiling at him so earnestly and genuinely. Harry who planned this day for him and who thinks he’s beautiful and _believes_ in him. 

Taking a deep breath, Louis snuffs the flicker of doubt smouldering inside him and musters up his own smile. “Let’s go. The lights await!”

-

Every street that Louis sees is lined with stalls and vendors, townspeople calling out prices and products and false promises that fall on gullible ears. 

Harry approves that’s selling freshly baked bread and soup, getting into line behind a small family. Louis stands next to him at first but then he sees a crowd gathered around the side of a shop nearby, brows drawing together in confusion. He taps Harry’s shoulder and tells him he’s going to go see what’s going on and Harry nods. 

Louis’ curiosity grows the closer he gets but there’s too many people blocking his view of what seems to be a painting against the stone wall. He nearly clears his throat to get the attention of a lady beside him to ask what’s going on but then a boy backs away from the front and Louis rushes to squeeze into his spot.

What he finds is a painting - a mural more like. He realizes, as he takes in the crowns and regal robes adorning the two main figures, that this must be the king and queen. His majesty King Marcus, he reminds himself as he studies the rendering of the man with sharp and stoic features but kind eyes. And Queen Josephine, beautiful and elegant but still imposing. There’s a shadow of something heavy in her face, hints of resignation and melancholy. It has Louis’ heart twisting, an inexplicable sadness washing over him. 

His eyes fall to the third figure in the painting which he had missed. It’s a baby boy. _The sun prince,_ Louis remembers. He’s nestled up in a basket and wrapped in violet blankets, eyes bright blue and hair gleaming gold. 

Louis can’t explain it but there’s something that’s drawing him to the young prince. He looks back at the queen and king, feeling suddenly dizzy and confused. 

“Whoa!” someone beside Louis exclaims loudly, sounding curious. “There’s a group of royal soldiers coming this way. What happened?” 

_Royal guards._ Louis freezes, head whipping around in shock. He finds them immediately - five men decked in royal uniforms and stalking this way. There’s a sixth _familiar_ man in their midst: Louis’ dance partner who assumed they were lovers. 

All it takes is a small glimpse of the yellowed piece of paper in the man’s hand for things to become clear. The cloak hadn’t been enough - had maybe even slipped off a few times or something because Harry has been _recognized._ He’s been recognized and now five guards are headed straight for him. 

Panicking, Louis stumbles away from the mural and the sun prince, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushes for Harry who’s still waiting in line, blissfully ignorant to the approaching danger. 

“H,” he blurts, grabbing Harry’s arm.

“It should only be a few more minutes,” Harry says, but then he sees the fear in Louis’ eyes and stiffens, gripping his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Harry, guards are coming,” Louis hisses, watching Harry’s face drain of color.

“Fuck,” he breathes, peering over Louis’ shoulder. “I see them. We need to go.” He adjusts his hood and wraps an arm around Louis’ waist, keeping his head ducked low. “Follow me,” he murmurs.

They stay close to the side of the street, using the passersby as cover as they slowly make their way down the street. Louis keeps glancing behind them, relieved when it’s confirmed that the guards haven’t spotted them yet. However, they’re not out yet.

“There’s an alley down there after that flower stand,” Harry says quietly, his hold tightening around Louis’ middle when someone bumps into them, nearly knocking them apart. “We just have to make it there. It leads down to Opal street which winds down to the canal where the boats are being rented. Once we’re on the water, we’re safe.”

“Okay,” Louis breathes, gaze darting back over his shoulder. He stills when his eyes meet another pair, sucking in a breath when he sees the confusion and then recognition pass over his face. He nudges another guard and Louis exhales sharply. “He saw me.”

“He -” Harry glances back and swears under his breath. “Okay, walk faster.”

Louis barely has a moment to catch his bearings when Harry releases his waist and grabs his hand instead, yanking him forward. They take off at a brisker pace, almost at a run but not quite. Harry apologizes profusely to everyone they knock into but eventually they lose time for politeness.

The guards are racing for them now, bellowing for townspeople to get out of the way in the name of the crown. 

They duck into the alley and Louis notes three things almost instantly. One, that it’s a lot narrower than he expected. Two, it's a lot _dirtier_ than he expected. And three, it’s unnervingly empty. 

Well, it _was._ They crash through the stacks of abandoned clutter and bits of rummage, racing down the seemingly endless passage while the sounds of their pursuers ring out into the air. 

“What do we do?” Louis pants, grabbing Harry’s arm for balance when his foot slips on something sticky. His nose wrinkles against the rancid smell and his eyes burn against the evening air. 

“See that stone arch at the end of the alley?” Harry says, breaths coming out short and labored. “The moment we make it out -”

He doesn’t need to finish because Louis is already gasping out his agreement.

Behind him the hoarse cry of “Styles!” fills the air.

“Fucking Payne,” Harry grunts, running even harder. His hood has slipped off by now, curls out and ruffling in the breeze. “Beginning to think he has a thing for me.”

The light grows brighter ahead - the true end of the tunnel. Louis fights against the contracting of his lungs, song clawing its way up his throat and pushing at his lips.

Harry springs out first, whipping his cloak off and throwing it over Louis’ head as he starts singing as fast as he can, heart hammering in his chest. 

He channels his magic and focuses it on the old stones, finding the cracks in the rock and his familiar golden threads, tugging them where he wants. With a broken creak, the arch comes crumbling down in a cloud of dust and jagged stones. When the air clears, there’s a pile of rocks that come up high enough that the guards will have to find a way to get through.

“Perfect,” Harry says, voice heavy and strained from exertion. “Let’s go.”

Louis nods, muscles twinging and temples throbbing. “Yeah,” he manages to choke out. 

Pascal sticks his head out of Louis’ rucksack during their walk down to the canal, a concerned lilt to his usual squeak. Louis tells him everything is fine and apologizes for jostling him so much. 

They’ve switched routes three times at this point, cutting through different alleys and empty clearings to satisfy Harry’s insistence on getting the guards as much off their route as possible. The more turns they take, the less people they see. Louis just stays quiet, eating the apples Harry bought off a lone fruit stand around the corner. He says there’ll be more food by the water so Louis resolved himself into waiting. 

It’s getting later, sky turning from burnt hues to pale blue as day bleeds into night. Louis can see the faint crescent moon blinking down on them, trying to focus on the beauty of the view above him and not the ache in his stomach. An ache that is not borne of hunger. 

He can’t stop replaying the moment in time when Harry immediately took his cloak off to cover Louis, because hiding Louis’ magic was more important to him than not exposing himself. Technically, those guards knew it was Harry by then anyway, but it was more so about instinct. Harry’s first instinct was to protect his secret. 

That’s not what’s bothering him though. What’s bothering him is that Harry got seen in the first place, that he’s in _danger_ in the first place. All because Louis made him return to the place he’s trying to escape. He can feel searing guilt settle in his stomach, insides twisting. 

“Harry,” he says carefully. 

“What?” Harry asks, flicking him a concerned look. 

Louis swallows, meeting his eyes. “If you were caught, what would happen to you?” he whispers.

For a moment, Harry freezes, but then he sighs. “Lou, we shouldn’t dwell on -”

“Tell me,” Louis interrupts, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Harry, just tell me.”

“All it’s going to do is make you blame yourself,” Harry says calmly.

“I need to know,” Louis replies just as measuredly. “Tell me. _Tell_ me. I’ll keep saying it until you do. Tell me, tell me, tell -”

“Fine,” Harry interrupts, rolling his eyes. “I’m actually not quite sure… I mean, stealing a crown… Fuck, it’s _treason,_ Louis.” 

_Treason._ Louis has heard that word, has read about it in books. A lump forms in his stomach. None of it had been good. Still he continues to push, “What do you _think_ will happen?”

Harry bites his lip. “Best case is a life in prison,” he says after a moment, voice low. “Worst is the gallows.”

Louis shudders, stopping in place. “You mean they’ll kill you,” he blurts, throat dry. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, stopping too. “But it’s not going to happen,” he adds when Louis makes a distressed noise. “Louis, relax. I don’t intend to get caught.” 

“You almost just did,” Louis croaks. “And now it’s worse. Now they know you’re _here_ and not halfway across the kingdom.” 

“Okay, _yeah,_ but -”

“What if they catch you tomorrow?” Louis interrupts. “What if they _do_ get you? Then what?” 

“Then I face the consequences,” Harry says smoothly. 

Louis lets out a sharp disbelieving laugh. “No,” he says. “No, Harry. You shouldn’t even be here.” He lifts his hands to his head, feeling nauseous. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault that you’re in danger. If I hadn’t roped you into this mess you probably would have been in Saporia by now.” 

Harry frowns. “Louis,” he says. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is,” Louis insists. “If you get caught, it’ll be _my_ fault. And then - and then -” He wills the burning in his eyes to cease, not wanting to cry. “If you _die,_ it’ll be my fault.” 

He flinches when Harry grabs his hand. “I did it,” Harry says firmly. “I’m the one that stole the crown and committed treason. If I’m caught and have to face punishment, the blame is solely mine to bear. I knew there was a chance when I did the heist and I know there’s a chance now. I still willingly came.” 

“I threatened you and we made a deal,” Louis shakes his head. “That’s not exactly willingly.” He almost says the rest, almost confesses. _I have the crown in my bag. You can take it and leave now._ Harry could be gone before the lanterns are released. He could be well on his way back across the kingdom by tomorrow afternoon. All Louis has to do is tell him, yet his mouth stays shut, words trapped in his throat. 

“It wasn’t willingly at first but it is now,” Harry says slowly. “I chose to be here today, Louis. And I do not regret my choice. It’s not your fault.” He enunciates each and every word, nothing but steady honesty in his words. 

Louis exhales. “I don’t like this,” he says, biting his lip. “I don’t want you to get caught.” 

“Well, that makes two of us,” Harry chuckles. “And we’ll be careful, okay? _I’ll_ be careful.” 

“Promise,” Louis says quickly. “Promise me you won’t get caught.” It’s a stupid wish, he knows. Harry can try all he can and take every precaution, but in the end he still can’t control whether he’s found or not. But Louis is desperate for every reassurance. 

Harry seems to understand, nodding. “I promise,” he says softly. “I promise, Louis. Everything is going to be okay.” 

Neither of them have any way of knowing that, but Louis still exhales in relief. “Okay,” he says, turning away and continuing to walk. “Let’s go.” 

They walk in complete silence after that, but Louis almost finds it comforting. He’s always thought there was a difference between empty silence and silence like this - silence that’s _full._ It’s all hanging between them and Louis can feel it. The words neither of them have the courage to say, the anticipation of seeing the lanterns, the worry of Harry’s potential capture, but also softer things: the understanding between them, the _trust._ It’s far from empty. 

Above them, the sky darkens and night rises, stars blinking down on them like a million glinting eyes. 

-

According to Harry, most people are heading to the palace by now to release the lanterns, but there’s still a dozen or so people lurking around when they arrive at the canal, stomachs filled with bread and cheese and oranges from a stall a street down. They’re aiming to go out on boats, Harry says, but Louis just sees a dozen potential chances of people catching Harry. They agree that he should be seen as less as possible so Louis volunteers to be the one to get it. There's an entire stock of wooden boats with royal insignias that can be found all around the city and which are free to be used by any townsperson when needed. 

Even so, Louis feels nervous as he approaches the vessel that Harry pointed out earlier. It’s tied to the dock and shifting gently in the water, the Coronian sun emblem faded on its rusted flank. Harry is lurking back near a closed shop but he’s still nearby, watching from afar. 

Louis takes a deep breath, reaching the edge of the dock and crouching down to reach for the rope. It’s fastened tightly and Louis struggles for a minute just trying to undo it, but he manages eventually, huffing out a sigh of relief. It’d be terrible to come all this way and be thwarted by a knot. However, immediately after untying, he realizes the boat is heavier than it looks and it instantly begins to drift away from the edge. He tightens his hold on the rope and yanks it back, feeling resistance from the vessel. It’s difficult to pull it along but he pushes through, tugging the boat away from the line of other boats so Harry can get out discreetly. 

Thankfully, Harry doesn’t waste too much time in running out to help him when he makes it far back enough. He takes the rope and helps Louis get on first, instructing him to take a seat in the second row and find the oars under the bench. Then he steps on too, the side of the boat immediately swinging away from land. Louis wasn’t prepared for how precarious and rocky it’d be, but he tries to ignore it as best as he can. 

Harry takes the oars from him and slowly begins paddling further into the canal. There’s only one pair of them so Louis just brings his legs onto the bench and hugs his knees to his chest, trying not to let the shifting of the vessel unnerve him. 

They’re quiet as they pass the occasional boat, Harry keeping his head ducked and Louis serving as look-out, eyes scanning for feathered helmets and angry faces. But the universe seems to be on their side for now, letting them reach the mouth of the canal and emerge into the ocean. 

Louis turns to look at the palace. He’s seen it during the day with all its gilded ramparts and parapets and magnificent looming towers, but it is an entirely different sight under the moonlight. It’s the biggest building he’s ever seen, yet it’s miniscule in the grand scheme of things, already growing smaller and smaller as they row farther out. 

But the farther out they get, the more jittery Louis begins to feel, sliding his hands under his thighs and pressing them together. He can feel his stomach churn, lungs contracting on every breath. 

“Just a couple of minutes,” Harry says after a bit, startling Louis out of his stupor. His movements have slowed to a more languid pace. 

“Oh,” Louis breathes, shifting restlessly. “Yay.” 

It must come out flat because Harry immediately shoots him a concerned look. “Are you alright?” 

He grimaces, shaking his head. “I'm… I don’t know what I am. Nervous? Terrified?”

“Why?” Harry asks, brows drawing together. “You’re going to see the lights.” 

“That’s just it,” Louis says, biting his lip. “You know… I've been looking out the window and then going to sleep for _nineteen years,_ dreaming about what it’d feel like to watch those lights rise in the sky. What if it's not everything that I dreamed it would be?”

Harry pauses, conviction lacing his next words. “It will be.”

“How do you know?” Louis challenges, looking back towards the outline of the city, blinking lights growing dim as the distance between them and the shore grows. 

“I just do,” Harry says. 

“Even if it is,” Louis says slowly. “What then? What happens next?” 

“I guess that’s the good part,” Harry says. “You get to go find a new dream.” 

Louis meets his eyes, exhaling. “I suppose so.” 

Harry eventually stops rowing a minute later, setting the oars on the floor of the boat and pointing up to the palace in the distance. “The king and queen always release the first one,” he says softly, not disturbing the quiet sort of peace that hangs over the harbor. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” 

He nods, reaching for his rucksack and letting Pascal hop out and scamper up to the front of the boat, tail flicking out excitedly. Louis lets himself feel a flicker of excitement too. The lanterns - the _lights._ He’s finally going to see the lights he’s been dreaming about for his whole life. Suddenly he feels impatient, eyes glued to the palace, waiting for a sign. 

His fingers tap nervously on his legs and he keeps changing positions - crossing his legs and then uncrossing them, bringing them up onto the bench and then back down. Harry seems amused by it, stifling his laugh when Louis accidentally rocks the boat and lets out a yelp. 

Louis shoots him a glare, but resolves himself to stop fidgeting. Instead he pulls out some of the flowers that have come loose from his braids and leans over the side of the boat, dropping them into the water and watching them float. 

Harry is humming something under his breath, something soft and sad, but Louis lets it lull him into a daze, watching how the petals wilt from dampness but the flowers keep drifting. A glow in the water has him stilling, brows drawing together in confusion. 

It takes him much too long to realize that it’s not something in the water, but a _reflection._ He lets out a gasp, head snapping up and back to the palace. His eyes follow the glowing shape as it ascends into the sky, heart in his throat. 

“There we go,” Harry whispers behind him. He lets out a shout when Louis shoots to his feet and scrambles to the front of the boat, jostling the boat dangerously. “Careful, Lou,” he blurts. 

But Louis doesn’t hear it, gripping the side of the boat tightly as he watches a wave of small glows follow the first, rising up into the sky and filling the dark with light. His hand comes up to cover his mouth, entranced by the sight. The lanterns aren’t just coming from the palace - all over the city from every street and corner - even from the ships in the harbor, lights illuminate and lift into the air until hundreds and hundreds of them are glowing above them. 

And _below,_ he realizes, reflections of the lanterns overtaking the waters and filling the depths with light. Louis feels rooted in place, every part of his body singing with joy and disbelief that he’s actually here witnessing this in person. 

Nineteen years. He’s spent nineteen years looking out of that window back at the tower at the sea of gleaming lights. Every birthday, he saw and dreamed and wished. And now here he is watching it happen in front of him. Nothing will ever compare to this feeling, he thinks. Nothing will ever compare to the beauty of this moment. 

It’s night but the sky is alight like the brightest day from all the lanterns. And under the light where they glow, Louis feels like he’s shining too. 

The world feels different too - brighter, _clearer._ It’s like his eyes have opened for the first time and he is seeing everything for the first time. Everything is new and bright and beautiful and he wants to bathe in the glow for the rest of his life. 

He turns at a cleared throat to see Harry holding two lanterns in his hands, a gentle smile on his face. Louis is suddenly rendered speechless, because in this moment, Harry is glowing too. Not from the lanterns in his hold nor the ones above him - he is glowing. He is light. 

“Louis,” Harry prompts, and Louis snaps out of it, rushing to take one of the lanterns. It’s warm against his palms and he finds himself taking a second to savor its weight in his hands, the glow spreading from its flame to his chest and swelling in his heart. 

They let them go together, watching them rise into the air and join the sea of other lanterns that were released by hundreds and hundreds of people like them. All of them are glowing tonight, and none of them are alone. Alone, they are small flickering flames, but together, they are a sky of shining lights, the brightest in the world. 

“How do you feel?” Harry asks softly, taking his hands. 

“Happy,” Louis breathes, feeling it bloom in every part of him. “So happy.” 

Harry’s smile is just as radiant as the lanterns around them and Louis can feel his insides burn with an emotion he can’t quite discern. His eyes fall to Harry’s lips, feeling dazed and confused. He’s read countless fairy tales in the past nineteen years, enough to have read countless stories of characters kissing and describing the feeling to be like _magic._

There was a time Louis had accepted that he’d never get to experience it. He was alone, after all. He was alone and for a while that was fine. But he’s not anymore. Not with Harry - never with him. With Harry, he feels that urge. The same feeling he’s read about countless times - the desire to lean up and kiss him - to experience that magic and see if the world will get even brighter. 

So he does. 

He uses Harry’s hands for balance as he rises up on his toes and presses their mouths together. Almost instantly, Harry squeezes his hands and lets out a startled sound, pulling back. 

“Louis, what the fuck?” he blurts, eyes wide. 

Louis freezes, seeing the shock on Harry’s face and feeling regret and bitter embarrassment claw up his throat. Just because _he_ felt the urge, didn’t mean Harry did, that Harry feels the same. “Sorry,” he says, feeling his eyes prickle in mortification. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” He rips his hands from Harry’s hold and stumbles backwards. 

“No, wait,” Harry rushes, grabbing his arm. “Louis, why did you do that?” he asks, voice serious and firm. 

“I don’t know,” Louis stammers, cheeks flushing bright red. “I just… wanted to. But you didn’t so I’m sor -”

Harry cuts him off with his lips, a hand curling around the back of his neck and tilting it up for more access. Louis makes a sound, hands coming up to grip Harry’s shoulders for dear life. He knows the lanterns are still floating into the air but Louis is seeing nothing but stars now, his entire body flooding with warmth as Harry tugs him closer, arm winding around his waist. 

He is shining, brighter than the sun, glowing from the inside. Harry guides him down between the two benches, cradling the back of his head with one big palm to keep it from knocking painfully into the wood as he slots their lips together again, leaning over him. There’s not really enough room but they make it work, nothing but the sound of water lapping at the sides of the vessel and the small whimpers Harry pulls from his throat to disrupt the quiet. 

When Harry bites down on his bottom lip, he whines high in his throat, feeling heat blossom at the base of his abdomen. His lips part on instinct and _-_ _oh -_ Harry licks into his mouth slowly but deliberately, sending tremors of pleasure through his body. All Louis can do is dig his fingers into his back and savor every rush of euphoria through his veins. He’s pretty sure he’s flushed from head to toe, dizzy from Harry’s attention and the weight and heat of his body over Louis’. 

_Definitely like magic,_ he thinks dazedly. Or maybe even better, but he can’t really think too hard about it. His mind has gone hazy, senses overwhelmed and overtaken by Harry, Harry, Harry. 

Every one of his movements is assured and steady, but his touches are nothing but gentle and tender as he presses up flush against Louis and runs his fingers through Louis’ hair. His braids are undoubtedly a mess by now but Louis can’t find it in himself to care in the slightest. Harry’s hands leave imprints all over him that Louis knows will linger on long after this. He’s never felt anything like this, and he never wants it to stop. 

Once again, time ceases to exist, an eternity or a few moments passing until the moment Harry’s lips leave his. It takes him a moment to remember how to breathe normally, eyes fluttering open to see Harry’s face inches from his own, eyes bright and heavy with reverence as he looks at Louis. 

“Hello,” Louis whispers, feeling a bit shy. 

“Louis,” Harry breathes, ducking down so their noses brush. Louis can’t help but lean up into the touch, feeling Harry’s breath fan out over his cheek before he presses his lips there oh so softly. “Have you… Am I your first?” 

The question makes Louis suck in a breath sharply, eyes fluttering shut as he nods slowly. He wonders if that’s a bad thing - if Harry could already tell from his eagerness and undoubtedly obvious lack of experience. He’s a mess from a few kisses and isn’t that embarrassing? 

“Stop that,” Harry says, tugging Louis’ arms away from his body. He hadn’t even realized he wrapped them around his middle. “You’re perfect,” he says then, and Louis’ panic fades away. 

Harry kisses his cheek once, twice, and a third time before dragging his mouth down to his neck, lingering at the hollow of his throat, mouthing at his throat until Louis is shuddering and squirming beneath him. 

All too soon, he halts his ministrations and staggers to his feet, reaching a hand out to help Louis up too. Louis takes it and tries to find his bearings, blushing when he sways dangerously, knees weak and mind sluggish. He looks around, trying to focus. Pascal is nowhere to be seen, most likely retreating back to Louis’ rucksack the moment their lips met. Louis can’t really blame him - they put on quite a show. 

“There’s an island a little ways ahead,” Harry says, voice hoarse. “We can camp out tonight under the stars if you want or we can go back and stay another night at the inn.” 

There’s only one answer. Louis looks up at the sky of floating lanterns and then back at Harry who’s staring at him with dark eyes. He swallows. “Island.” 

Harry nods, gaze dipping to his lips again. “We should go now because it’s going to get darker,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move. 

Louis makes a sound of acknowledgement but also stays exactly where he is. 

They stare at each other for a moment, hearts unsteady and breaths uneven. Louis doesn’t know who leans in first. All he knows is that it’s a long while before they both gather the patience to row to shore. 

-

The island is small and mostly taken up by dense greenery and rocky outcrops but they find a little nook to set up camp in, rolling out their pallets and starting a fire. The only difference is that it takes much longer than usual, probably because neither of them can leave each other’s side. Harry presses him up against random trees and kisses him breathless more than once and Louis is hardly any better. Pascal tires of their antics quickly and curls up on a flat rock to sleep. 

But they do eventually finish, settling down in front of the fire and soaking in its warmth. Louis feels Harry’s gaze on him, blushing when he turns and sees the intensity of his stare. “What?” he mumbles. 

“Just admiring the view,” Harry says, corners of his mouth quirking up. 

Louis rolls his eyes, but his heart flutters all the same. He turns back to the fire and that’s when his eyes snag on his abandoned rucksack which is propped up against a log. He thinks of the crown inside and of how worried he’d been that Harry was only here because of the deal and that he didn’t care about Louis at all. 

Before he realizes, he’s standing up and moving towards it, feeling nothing but confident in Harry’s regard for him. “I have something for you,” he says, reaching down and rummaging for the familiar cool metal. His fingers brush against a smooth jewel and he exhales, pulling it out. Holding it carefully in both hands, he turns to face Harry who’s gaze immediately drops to it, eyes widening. 

“I should have given this to you sooner,” Louis admits, walking towards him and holding it out. He takes a deep breath. “I was scared… but I’m not anymore. Our deal is over and the crown is yours. If you want, you can be gone tomorrow and I’ll find my own way back.” 

Harry starts shaking his head immediately. “That’s not happening,” he says. “I’ll take you back like I promised.” He pauses, meeting Louis’ eyes. “And because I want to.” 

Louis bites his lip, trying to tamp down his smile. “And then what? Off to Saporia?” he asks lightly. 

“Maybe not quite yet,” Harry says, and this time Louis can’t hold back his smile, letting Harry pull him in by the waist and onto his lap. “Pretty sure I have unfinished business with Corona after all.”

“A good reason to stay,” Louis breathes. 

“Yeah, you are,” Harry whispers, and he presses his face into Harry’s shoulder to hide his grin. “Might have to talk to your mother about this staying inside all the time thing though. Or get really comfortable with using that pulley system.” 

He stills at that, smile fading. Harry’s talking as if those plans are possible - probably because he doesn’t _know_ Louis’ mother. But Louis does, and he knows that she’d never agree to something like that. She doesn’t trust Louis at all, nor will she listen to him. He’s beginning to realize the true nature of their relationship and how she’s treated Louis like a possession that she was meant to protect. 

“What if,” he says slowly. “What if I don’t want to go back…” 

Harry stills, surprise painted over his face when Louis gathers the courage to lift his head from his shoulder and meet his eyes. “Why might that be?” Harry asks quietly, not rushing him. 

“I don’t want to be a bird in a cage anymore,” Louis whispers, eyes burning though he doesn’t feel close to crying. He thought this would be more difficult for him - that he’d be more hesitant or unsure, but all he feels is ready. He thought he’d miss his mother more too, especially after the way they parted, but in truth, Louis has been missing her his entire life. She’s never really been there for him - not really. Always off on her trips and returning just long enough to rest and let Louis heal her before leaving again. For all he knows, she’s been out having her own adventures this entire time while he sat alone in his tower. The thought ignites anger inside him. “I want those adventures you promised I’d have,” he says. “I want it more than anything, but she’d never let me. She thinks I’m too weak to handle the real world. She always has.” 

“You aren’t weak,” Harry says, brows drawing together in indignation. “You never have been. You are _strong,_ Louis. And brave. There’s no way I could have done everything you’ve done these past few days. From the moment I met you, you’ve done nothing but surprise and impress me. She couldn’t be more wrong.” 

Louis closes his eyes, letting the words sink into him. “I know,” he says steadily, and he does. He clears his throat, opening his eyes now. “I can’t go back there, not after seeing the kingdom and _living_ for the first time. I want to see all those places on that map we looked at at the library. I want to talk to people and try food and ride horses and learn how to swim.” 

For a minute, Harry just studies him, face open and gentle. “Okay,” he says then. “We won’t go back.” 

In response, Louis throws his arms around Harry’s neck and kisses him for what must be the dozenth time, trying to hold back his tears. It’s not Harry’s acceptance of the actual decision that’s making him happy - he’s made up his mind about not returning to the tower for himself already and Harry had nothing to do with. It’s the way Harry said, _“We.”_ The way he spoke of them doing things together, the way he’s indirectly telling Louis that he’s sticking around, that he’s by his side. 

Whether it’s the added heat from the fire or something else, Louis finds himself getting desperate much too quickly, blood rushing through his body and to his cock which he’s been doing his best to ignore up until this point. It’s not like Louis is completely clueless about things like sex and pleasure. He’s spent plenty of time sneakily reading the thick books his mother used to buy for herself, covers of scantily clad men and women and titles with words like _lust, sin, temptation,_ and _filthy._ He knows things and _tried_ things even - but when it comes down to it, he still has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. 

When Harry slides a hand down to rest just above the curve of his arse, Louis gasps into his mouth. 

Harry breaks the kiss instantly, lifting his hand. “I’m sorry,” he rushes, looking guilty. 

“No, please,” Louis blurts, cheeks coloring. “I want it,” he mumbles. 

“Is that right?” Harry asks, hands sliding lower. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Louis’. “Tell me what you want.” 

His face burns, lips glued together and tendrils of embarrassment forming in his stomach. 

“I know you haven’t done any of this before,” Harry says softly, “and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. If anything, it just makes me feel even more special, baby. Being your first and only.” 

“Really?” Louis blurts. 

“Yeah, really,” Harry murmurs. He palms at Louis’ arse over his trousers and Louis shudders at the feeling. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Louis. I’d never ever want to pressure you into doing anything. Everything is still so new and we have plenty of time. Just tell me.” 

“I want to,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know I don’t have to, but I want it. Please, Harry, I’m - it hurts.” 

“It hurts?” Harry asks, a hint of something teasing entering his tone. “What hurts?” 

Instead of answering, Louis squirms helplessly, desperate for something he doesn’t know how to voice. He trembles when Harry leans in to kiss his neck gently. “Please,” he somehow manages to get out, hoping Harry will understand what he means. 

Harry slides one hand around to his front, fingers trailing down his stomach in a pathway down to the front of his trousers. The touch is fleeting, just the tip of his finger, but when he traces a line down the small bulge, Louis jerks violently, letting out a choked sound. “Right there?” Harry muses. “Is this where it hurts, baby?” 

He’s unable to respond verbally, settling for a jerky nod. He gasps when Harry presses the heel of his palm against the fabric, unable to help but buck up into the touch. “Please,” he whimpers, a noise of protest following when Harry removes his hand and curls it around his thigh. 

A hand cups the side of his face, tilting his head down to look Harry in the eyes. “Are you sure about this?” Harry asks him, nothing but seriousness in his voice. 

“Yes,” Louis says instantly. “I promise, Harry.” 

“Okay,” Harry breathes, thumb rubbing circles into his leg almost absently. “I’m going to touch you, okay? Make you feel good… I don’t even need to take your pants off - just gonna slide them down, alright?” 

Louis nods, burying his face in Harry’s neck as Harry grips the fabric of his trousers and tugs it down. The chill of the air against his inner thighs and sensitive parts makes him shiver, clinging to Harry tighter. In sharp contrast, Harry’s palm is warm when it curls around his cock, making him go rigid. 

He digs his fingers into Harry’s shoulders, tears brimming in his eyes as Harry begins to work him over with slow but deft twists of his hands, swiping his thumb over the dripping head and using it to ease the glide. 

“Is that good, baby?” he asks, other hand smoothing down his tense back. 

“Good,” Louis mumbles. He nudges his forehead against Harry’s cheek, panting quietly. “Kiss?” he manages to ask. 

Harry obliges, slotting their lips together as his movements increase speed. He squeezes a bit on the upstroke and Louis whines, lips parting to let Harry lick into his mouth and then suck on his tongue. 

All too quickly, Louis feels a frisson of heat grow at the base of his abdomen, building fast. “Harry,” he mumbles into his mouth. “Close.” 

It comes out completely incoherent but Harry seems to get the gist - or that’s what Louis thinks until Harry ceases his movements completely, pulling back from Louis’ lips. He sucks in a breath, confused and desperate, but Harry pecks his cheek in apology. 

“Can I try something?” he asks, hand reaching down to his own trousers. “To get us _both_ off.” 

Louis nods, feeling a bit dazed as his eyes drop to the hardness jutting out from Harry’s trousers. It’s impossible for him not to note the difference in size, cheeks flushing darker. Harry struggles for a minute to shove his pants down so Louis ends up having to hold on as Harry stands up to do it, cock finally springing out - thick and long. 

He grabs his abandoned cloak to lay over the log before sitting down again, gripping his length and stroking himself a bit. Louis finds his gaze fixed on the bob of Harry’s Adam's apple and the way his jaw tenses, letting out a groan. His voice is rough when he tells Louis, “C’mere.” 

Their lips meet again, a lot less gentle this time and a lot more desperate. Harry bites down on his bottom lip right as he grips both of their cocks in one hand, working them over together. Louis falls apart first, spilling over Harry’s fist and keening high in his throat as a tremor wracks his body. 

Harry kisses him through it, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone soothingly as he gasps for breath. Then Harry reaches his own climax by himself, body tensing as he too spills into his hand with a grunt, eyes squeezed shut. 

For a few minutes, they both try to catch their breaths, clinging to each other tightly. Eventually they both stumble to their feet. Harry washes his hands in the water, claiming there’s a whole lot worse down there than bodily fluids.

After getting cleaned up, they sit by the fire again and Harry helps Louis undo his braids which have gotten tangled and knotted over the evening’s events. Louis finds his hairbrush and tries his best to brush his hair, singing softly. 

When they’re ready to go to sleep, they put out the fire and then push their pallets up right next to each other and lay down face to face. Harry grabs his hand and holds it between them, like he wants them to be touching at all times. 

“Where do we go tomorrow?” Louis finds himself whispering. 

“I’m not sure,” Harry admits, before squeezing his hand. “We’ll figure it out together.” 

He ends up falling asleep first, eyes fluttering shut and face going lax. It takes a while longer for Louis to fall asleep, too giddy from the day’s events and excited for whatever comes next to sleep. Instead, he stares up at the stars until he succumbs to his dreams. 

-

Harry wakes up with a start, sitting up abruptly as worry and panic fester inside him. It takes a minute for his vision to adjust and for him to immediately look towards Louis, relieved to find him safe and sleeping right beside him, hand still in his. He exhales, looking up at the sky - it can’t have been more than a few hours since he fell asleep. 

Which begs the question: what woke him? 

His answer arrives moments later when he catches a flash of light in his peripheral, and he turns to see a green flickering glow down by the shore. 

A signal. 

Worse, it’s a signal he _knows -_ one he came up with even. Staining the sides of the lantern green using spinach to create a completely unique green light. It’s the signal he used to alert George from across the street that he had retrieved the crown and they needed to enact the escape phase. A signal that all three of them used multiple times during the span of that heist. He definitely knows that signal. 

Somehow, George and Stud have found them. He wonders if it’s just them alone and they escaped containment or if they’ve struck a deal with the guards. It seems unlikely that Liam Payne would willingly work with criminals but Harry wouldn’t doubt it knowing how determined that fool is to catch him. 

Either way, Harry has to deal with them. He knows better than to ignore men like George and Stud, especially when he’s not alone. He glances at Louis who is sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of his current dilemma which is how Harry wants it. Hesitating, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to Louis’ temple, freezing when Louis snuffles softly in response. He only untenses when it’s confirmed that Louis is still out. 

Then he carefully lets go of his hand, more upset by the loss of Louis’ fingers in his than he should be. _This will be quick,_ he tells himself. Everything will be fine. 

He backs away from the area slowly before stilling, realization washing over him. He falls to his knees, feeling around for the pile of bags they created by their feet. His fingers brush over the familiar worn fabric of his rucksack he stuffed the crown in hours before and he exhales, pulling it out along with a cloth bag he got with his purchases at the market. He can give George and Stud the crown and everything will be resolved - hell, even if the entire royal company is waiting for him, he’ll relinquish the _couronne de soleil_ and hope it counts for something. 

With one last lingering glance at Louis’ figure, curled up and lax, he turns and heads for the green light. 

George and Stud are standing with arms crossed at the shore, a sleek mahogany boat (a boat that no way in Corona they’d be able to afford themselves) moored behind them beside the boat he and Louis rowed here. A thorough scan has Harry confident that they’re here alone. But how? 

“Styles,” George grits when he steps into their line of sight. He looks livid, lip still swollen even though it’s been over a week and a myriad of other scrapes and scars marring his whiskered face. 

“Boys,” Harry says smoothly, slipping back into his persona with ease. “How’ve you been?” 

“You’ve got some nerve acting so high and mighty after all the shit you pulled,” Stud sneers, fixing him with a look of hatred. 

Harry exhales. “Look, I know I betrayed you, but what did you expect? We were nothing but temporary business partners and when the business was over, so was the loyalty.” He takes the cloth bag from behind his back. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You guys can have the crown.” 

He shakes the bag for emphasis and then throws it at their feet, the crown sliding out instantly through the gap. It glints in the darkness, the most expensive thing he’s ever stolen. He thought he’d feel more regret handing it off, but all he feels is relief. He looks up to George and Stud who haven’t moved an inch, gaze focused on him instead of the prize. He frowns. 

“Holding out on us again, Styles,” George says, a wicked glint in his left eye. 

“What?” he says, tensing when both George and Stud slide matching cutlasses from their leather scabbards. He keeps his face calm even though uneasiness is bubbling up inside him, dripping through his veins. “What’re you talking about?” 

George flicks a look to the direction of his and Louis’ camp and Harry twitches. “We heard you found something,” he says, beginning to walk forward. His foot knocks the crown to the side but he doesn’t falter. “Something _much_ more valuable than a crown.” 

Nausea curls in his throat as they both stalk towards him, the realization dawning on him immediately. _Something much more valuable than a crown._

He already knows what George is going to say when he opens his mouth, smiling sickeningly, but the words still make him flinch. “We want _him_ instead.” 

-

Louis stirs gradually, arms raising above his head and head lolling back to stretch languidly. His eyes flutter open next, confusion curling inside him when he realizes the sky is still a dusky blue. It’s early morning, the sun not even up yet. 

He turns to see if Harry’s awake before faltering. Harry’s pallet is empty, the man nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he panics. Where’s Harry? Is he okay? Was he _caught?_

Scrambling to his feet, he takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm the pounding in his heart. Harry is probably relieving himself nearby for all he knows, and him getting up in the first place must’ve been what woke Louis up too. Everything’s fine, he tells himself. 

Sighing, he fumbles for his rucksack to find a shawl. This early in the day, the air is cold and raw against his skin. His eyes wander over Harry’s bag, embarrassingly relieved that it’s still here. 

As much as he doubts the idea, the prickle of fear in his gut that Harry has disappeared on him is present, and Louis hates that it is. Harry wouldn’t do that, he knows he wouldn’t. Harry cares about him. They’re going to continue their adventure, _together._

After wrapping the shawl around his shoulders, he sits down, hugging his knees to his chest and propping his chin on top of them. He’s still sleepy and he’s sure he could fall back asleep if he laid down again, but he just feels too antsy without Harry in sight. _He’ll be back soon,_ he thinks. He will. 

Pascal’s familiar squeak has him smiling, seeing the little chameleon scamper towards him, tail flicking in greeting. 

“Hey, buddy,” he whispers, letting Pascal scurry up his arm to his shoulder. They can wait for Harry together. 

It’s not more than a few minutes later that he hears a rustling sound. Tension drains from his shoulders and he automatically sighs in relief. “I was starting to think you left me,” he says loudly, a smile blooming on his face as he turns towards the trees. 

He freezes. 

A familiar pair of men are moving towards him with blades in their hands - the very same men they outran back at the canyon. He shoots up to his feet, backing away in panic. 

“I’m afraid he did,” one of them says. It takes a second for Louis to realize it’s in response to his own words. He goes rigid. 

“What’re you talking about?” he blurts, voice wobbling. “He wouldn’t.” He stumbles back when they take a sinister step forward in unison. They’re trying to say Harry left him, but that makes no sense. Where _is_ Harry? Should Louis call out for him? 

The taller man chuckles, pointing off to the water. “Look for yourself,” he says. 

Dread smoulders in his stomach, Louis’ gaze slides to the ocean which is covered by a mass of thick fog. Even through the gloom, the outline of a boat is unmistakable. It’s not the boat they rowed here - this one has a crimson sail and a wheel, the latter of which is being gripped by a familiar figure. His heart lurches, bile clawing up his throat. It can’t be… 

But it is. Louis has his profile memorized and he’s looking at it right now, recognizable even from far away. No matter how many times he looks, the sight doesn’t alter. It truly is Harry on that boat, sailing away from him. 

“He -” he cuts himself off with an anguished cry, unable to process what this means. 

“Fair trade, innit?” the same man says, a sneer twisting his lips as he takes another deafening step further. “A crown for the boy with magic hair.” 

Louis freezes and Pascal squeaks in alarm. They know about his hair. They _know_ about his _hair._ They know about his hair which means Harry _told_ them about his hair. 

“How much do you think someone would pay to stay young and healthy forever?” the shorter one asks, almost conversationally. He steps closer and Louis stumbles back, spine bumping into the rough bark of a tree. 

“I reckon a lot,” the taller one says, creeping closer. “And of course, we ought to test it for ourselves.” 

“Please,” Louis blurts, fear and terror rushing through his veins. His fingers quiver when he lifts his hands and flattens them in surrender. The gesture just makes them snicker. 

“C’mon and sing for us,” the taller one coos, leering. He takes a slow step forward and then abruptly lunges in Louis’ direction. 

He gasps, springing away from the tree. He scrambles for his pallet, grabbing his rucksack and stuffing Pascal inside before taking off into the trees. 

“You can run but you won’t get very far,” a sickening voice yells behind him, footsteps thundering in his wake. 

Louis tamps down the frightened tears in his eyes and tears through the green, branches and bark scraping against his arms and legs already twinging from soreness. He has to get out of here, but how? Their boat is down by the shore if it’s even still there at all. 

He doesn’t know what to do, is the thing. His heart is hammering in his chest, lungs contracting painfully with every step, and the image of Harry sailing away from him etched across the back of his eyelids every time he blinks. He left, he left, he _left._

In the next moment, a hand clamps around his wrist and he screams, the sound wrenched from deep in his throat. “Please, please, don’t do this,” he begs, tremors wracking his body. 

It’s the taller one, the eye that’s not covered by his patch gleaming dangerously. His grip tightens to an excruciating extent, yanking Louis off-balance. “Nice try, you little -”

A deafening _clang_ rings in Louis’ ears and the man crumples, fingers vanishing from Louis’ wrist in a matter of seconds. He stumbles back, looking up at the cloaked figure, a large wooden club in their hand. 

The other man appears then, eyes dropping to Eyepatch’s unconscious figure. He looks to the figure and gapes. “This wasn’t part of -”

With a smooth swing, the person swings the club again and knocks the thug out cold. Louis’ gasp gets lost in the sound of his body hitting the ground. 

“Louis,” says a very familiar voice, sinking into his skin and making him freeze. He really should have recognized her sooner, but it’s unmistakable now. 

“Mother,” he breathes, feeling his eyes well with tears. 

She shrugs her hood off and drops the club, moving to grip his shoulders instantly when he crashes into her with a choked sob. “My darling, are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

He’s unable to respond, broken and ugly sobs spilling from his lips and staining the velvet fabric over her shoulder. 

“Jewel, are you okay?” she repeats, more urgently. 

“How are you here?” Louis blurts, drawing back. His heart is still pounding in his chest, leftover panic and fear bleeding into both relief and disbelief. 

“I was planning on going home but I was just so worried about you, darling. I rode to the city and tried to look for you yesterday morning and that’s when I heard the guards saying you were spotted with that thief,” she confesses, eyes so wide and sincere. In that moment, Louis can’t believe he ever thought she didn’t care about him. “I saw you row out from the harbor but it took me a while to find a free boat with all the chaos and when I finally got here, I saw those two and decided to wait and see what happened. Now please tell me you’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” he confirms, digging his fingers into her shoulders because he’s still not able to process that she’s _real_ and _here_. “Just… shaken.” 

“You poor thing,” she coos, squeezing him tightly around the middle. She pulls back abruptly, gaze darting to the motionless bodies beside them. “We have to go before they wake up.” 

Louis looks at the two ruffians, bile rising in this throat. They knew about his hair. They were _sent_ after him. “You were right,” he blurts, looking up at her with watery eyes. “You were right about everything. I gave him the crown and he -” He cuts off, unable to finish. 

“Oh, jewel,” Mother murmurs, sadness spreading across her face. She opens her arms and he falls into them, eyes squeezing shut as he shakes in silent sobs. 

She was right about Harry all along - maybe she was right about Louis too. Maybe he really is useless and stupid. Maybe he’s naive and gullible; he trusted Harry, after all. He trusted Harry from the beginning, trusted his protection and his guidance and his promises and his sweet nothings. He _trusted_ him, and Harry tore right through it. It was probably his plan all along: sneak through the defense of _useless, stupid, naive, and gullible_ Louis. He probably knew Louis would never see it coming. 

A part of him can’t help but still try to deny it, deny that Harry truly went and left him to be taken - abandoned him to the wolves. A part of him that still hopes that this is all some sort of twisted mistake. That Harry wouldn’t break his trust, that he cares about Louis as much as Louis cares about -

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, inhaling deeply and trying to quell the urge to scream and thrash and kick the ground. There’s no point wondering anymore, nor any point in throwing a fit. 

Harry left him. He _ran._

“Come, my darling,” Mother says after a minute of them hugging and swaying. She releases him, picking her club back up. “My boat is on the far side of the island and I have a horse waiting back on the mainland. We can leave now and be home by tomorrow night. And we’ll forget all about this horrid trip and that terrible man.” 

_But he’s not terrible,_ Louis thinks automatically, before sighing. Harry left him, he reminds himself. He left him and he _lied_ to him. He promised Louis adventures. He promised him _together._ He deserves none of Louis’ defenses. 

Instead, he just nods, voice raspy as he whispers, “Let’s go home.” 

Mother smiles at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. They walk off in silence, and he doesn’t look back. Nor does he when they sail away from the island, burying the memories that took place on its land in the deepest recesses of his mind where he dare not venture. 

He will never look back. 

-

Harry is dancing. 

Faces are blurring in his vision as he spins around and around, smiling so wide it hurts. In his arms, Louis is laughing. Soft and loud and beautiful. They’re dancing together, holding each other close, sharing private grins and tender touches. Everything is light. Everything is _right._

Then suddenly a crack ruptures the marble dance floor and everyone gasps, scrambling back. Harry stares as it deepens, splitting the ground apart beneath their feet. He watches in horror as the fissure continues to grow, the sickening sound of stone being broken ringing in his ears.

It feels like slow motion when it slashes right between Harry and Louis, widening until they have no choice but to scramble back, distance growing vaster between them. What was once a small rift has now expanded into a chasm, Harry on one side and Louis on the other. They stare at each other longingly, unable to breach the gap between them.

A shocked yell wrenches Harry from his haunted dream. His eyes fly open, a sudden searing pain erupting in the back of his head, vision blurry. He tries to lift a hand to check it only to realize immediately that he can’t. He looks down and gapes when he sees his hands fastened tightly to a wooden wheel with thick rope, angry red lines peeking out from underneath. Also tied to the wheel is the _crown._

Wait, where is he?

He looks around, confusion growing when he realizes he’s standing on a boat - _tied_ to said boat.

“Styles!” a familiar furious voice bellows.

Liam Payne.

Suddenly everything returns to him in a jumble of panic and horror. He looks up to see Liam and his men at the far end of the dock, lanterns glowing through the layer of fog submerging the port. They’re racing towards him with spears and swords raised as if they’re expecting him to put up a fight.

He’s _tied_ to a boat, for fuck’s sake. Biting his lip, he struggles against the restraints but it’s no use. It may not be a Palomar’s knot but it’s still annoyingly effective. Liam Payne comes to a halt in front of him, eyes immediately latching onto the crown. 

Harry yanks harder, protests spilling from his lips when two of the guards jump on board and begin the process of apprehending him. He’s not paying any attention to them though, not even when one wrenches the crown away from him or when they untie him and shove him up onto the dock. He’s thinking about _Louis._

Louis is back on the island and George and Stud are after him. They _know_ about his hair and his magic. How? How did everything go so badly?

“Mr. Styles, you are under arrest for _treason,”_ Liam spits, snapping him back to the moment. He’s the one to bind Harry’s arms behind his back, looking a mixture of relieved and angry as he orders his men to get Harry onto a horse. 

They’re not gentle, pushing and yanking at him, but Harry just feels numb. He strains to look back over his shoulder at the island but the harbor is completely covered in a layer of impenetrable fog. 

He’s being arrested for treason and he’s numb. 

“Wait,” he finally blurts, realizing he’s on a horse now. He still feels a bit dazed, senses sluggish and head still throbbing. “Wait, hold on.” 

“Seriously? You’re going to try and protest after all this?” Liam asks, looking at him like he’s the scum of the kingdom. 

“George and Stud Stabbington are back on that island,” he spits out, scrambling for an excuse. 

Liam only scoffs, looking irritated. “Like I’d believe a word out of your lying mouth. The Stabbingtons are a problem for another day.” He holds the crown up. “The couronne de soleil is back in capable hands and that’s all that matters.”

“But -” Harry bites his lip, panic growing when Liam mounts his own horse and gestures for them to begin walking - away, from the shore and from Louis. Harry’s flanked on both sides by two guards, Liam riding ahead of them and a sixth guard tailing the whole fleet. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees passersby study him curiously, some perhaps recognizing his face from the flyer (offensive rendition of his nose beside) and others completely unknowing of who he is, what he did. He thought he’d feel more unnerved under the scrutiny, more humiliated at this clear attempt at a ride of shame, but all he feels is worry. 

Louis is back on the island, getting farther and farther away as they leave the harbor behind and emerge onto the streets, the sound of hooves on cobblestone embedding into his ears. 

It takes him a while to surrender, slumping in the saddle and giving mercy to his raw wrists. There’s no use fighting it anymore. He begins to recognize the route they’re taking, skirting around the outside of the city where the streets are narrower and the light doesn’t shine through. The familiar spiked gate of the Royal prison appears in the distance soon enough, just as imposing and ominous as the last time Harry saw it this close. That had been a minor infraction, some stolen jewels from a lord’s gala that Harry managed to make off with once the lack of proof was established for his case. 

He just had to stay a night behind those sallow walls, but he remembers it well. Stone faced wardens, meager helpings of inedible bread and uncomfortably runny milk, a layer of rancid resentment and misery hovering over the place. 

By the time they arrive at the foot of the familiar foreboding hill, Harry is completely silent, protests long gone. Numb. 

The guards aren’t mindful when getting him off the horse, but he doesn’t provide much help either, slack and motionless as a bag of straw. 

He’s shoved inside with a hand curled into the back of his shirt, stinging of his temples reappearing tenfold from the jostling. He wonders if he’ll receive any medical care, but doesn’t dwell on the thought. It is not likely.

Liam leads him to his cell with a stiff face, a guard at each of his elbows and one crowding behind. Harry tried to take some satisfaction in all the precautions they feel necessary to take, though it’s muted. They pass what must be a dozen cells, some occupied by all sorts of criminals with dimmed eyes and others physically empty but still containing the weight of history between their walls. They stop at the cell located at the very back of the row, surrounded by two vacant ones. 

His eyes dart to the space at the last possible second, right when the strained creak of the iron bars jangling scrapes against his ears. He counts imaginary footsteps from one side to another: eight. Small, cramped, and hollow. Harry feels a prickle of dread form at the thought of spending his nights here indefinitely.

“Get in,” Liam snaps, and he realizes he’s been standing rooted to the spot for a minute now. 

Lips twisting, he begrudgingly enters the cell, trying not to pay attention to how close the walls are on all sides, seemingly looming closer. “Nice place you got here,” he says almost on instinct, his best defense mechanism as easy to him as it’s always been. 

He doesn’t get a response, just an impassive guard undoing his binds. It feels like sweet relief and he can’t help but flex his hands and fingers, trying to get some blood rushing back through his veins after the rope cut off his circulation. 

“Have fun in here,” Liam says flatly. “Your appeal is tomorrow, but I wouldn’t waste your breath.”

“I will,” Harry says, flashing a crooked smile. _You’re making a mistake,_ he wants to say. _You need to let me go. I need to go._

Liam just snorts, before gripping the door. That’s when it sinks in - the fact that he’s here, enclosed in this small space with very little light streaming in from the pitiful window above the sagging cot. But he’s also _here,_ contained in the prison while Louis is in potential danger - or worse, he’s already been taken. How long has it been since he talked to George and Stud? 

Is Louis even in the city anymore? Or long gone? 

_I’m sorry,_ he thinks helplessly. To Louis, but also to himself - his younger self. He’s sorry he failed that bright-eyed young boy with big dreams and sadness in his heart. He’s sorry he spent the last three years running - he should have known his monsters would catch up eventually. One can only run so far before they crumble, and Harry has reached the end of his rope. 

He snaps out of it when the door slides shut with a resounding thud, cementing his fate in place. The guards march away and Harry staggers to the cot, slumping down onto it and exhaling. On cue, his stomach pangs in hunger. 

All in all, Harry reasons, it’s been a pretty shit morning.

-

Louis’ voice comes out almost lifeless as he sings for Mother, her steady hand guiding the brush through his knotted hair and humming along with him. He’s sitting with her on her bed, dressed in his nightclothes with damp hair from his bath. 

They returned to the tower just an hour ago, muscles sore from two days of riding and minimal stopping. Mother kept saying that she wanted them to return back as soon as possible so Louis can be back at home where he belongs. He never responded - in fact, he didn’t really speak at all over the journey, a weight in his throat that he couldn’t dissolve. Mother seemed to understand, filling the empty air with her own chatter and never pushing him. 

The only time he spoke up of his own volition was when they finally reached the tower and dismounted. Mother was restraining the horse she borrowed to a nearby tree - where he’d remain until she’d be able to bring him back to the stables on her next trip - when he realized that they wouldn’t be able to access the pulley from below. 

“How are we going to get up there?” he asked, alarmed by the sound of his own voice. It had grown raspy from disuse. 

Mother just smiled, leading him around the tower where she revealed a wooden trapdoor buried under the brush. It opened up into a dark room, but the light from Mother’s lantern revealed a winding staircase that leads up to their rooms. As he climbed, he wondered what else he didn’t know about the home he’s inhabited for the past nineteen years. 

She let him take the first bath. He stood under the scorching spray and let the water wash away the dirt and grime from the trip, but also the _memories._ And when he stepped out, skin flushed from how hard he scrubbed at it, he could still feel the imprints of hands all over him. It made him shudder. 

He found Mother in her room with his rucksack opened and empty. She had unpacked for him, stuffing away any souvenirs and items he’s obtained on his trip and hiding them away. He appreciates it, he does, but he can’t deny that it feels like a strike to the ribs. There’s no visible trace of the past few days left - all gone and buried deep - and he can feel its loss deep in his bones. 

It’s like it never happened at all. 

Now, he’s singing and she’s brushing and everything is back to normal. It should feel like a relief, but all Louis feels is numb. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Harry’s smile. So much time has passed along with distance, but Louis still feels an ache in his heart, twinging when he least expects it. 

Harry left him. He left him. He left. Over and over, the truth is repeated in his head, sharp against his ribs. Left, left, left. 

“Darling,” Mother says in question, movements stilling. “Why’d you stop singing?” 

He sucks in a breath, not even realizing the melody has died on his lips. “Sorry,” he squeaks, clearing his throat and continuing. Technically, he sang for Mother the night before in the inn they stopped at. She didn’t really need for him to sing again so soon but she insisted that they need to return to familiar routines - _comforting_ routines. 

So Louis dutifully sings until Mother is appeased, setting the brush down and squeezing him close before getting up. “It’s getting close to dinnertime,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. Her lips curve into a sly grin. “I’m making hazelnut soup, your _favorite.”_

It’s difficult but Louis manages to muster up a smile. “Sounds good,” he tries. 

She sees right through him, sighing. “Jewel, you’re safe now,” she says slowly. “Don’t look so blue.” 

_Blue._ Louis squeezes his eyes shut, but it’s no use. Harry’s soft smile forms in the backs of his eyelids and his fingers curl into the duvet. “I miss him,” he blurts, the words he’s been holding in for the past two days bursting out of him like a wave. 

Mother just gives him a pitying look. “He deceived you, darling. He doesn’t deserve your affection or longing.” 

She’s right, to be fair, but Louis can’t help but flinch. He can’t help it. He can’t help that Harry snuck into his heart and has carved out a place there that’s not so easily healed. “It just… hurts,” he says softly. 

“I'm so sorry you’re hurting, pet,” she says gently, “but I did try to warn you. The world is a cruel, dark place.” She shakes her head sadly. “You are a pure and kind soul. People see that and take advantage of it. But you are always safe here, my dear. Always.” 

He manages a smile, bringing his bare feet onto the bed and hugging his knees to his chest. Mother disappears off to the kitchen, calling out an “I love you!” over her shoulder that he returns, albeit less energetically. 

With a sigh, he falls back onto the mattress until he’s laying down fully, limbs splayed out and eyes trained on the ceiling. He thinks of what Mother said. The world is a cruel, dark place. 

Despite his best efforts not to, his mind automatically filters through dozens of memories and flashes from the past week. He remembers the smell of fresh air, the warmth of sunlight shining over his face, and the beauty of mother nature that he was able to experience. None of those things can be categorized by cruel or dark.

In fact, most of the trip couldn’t. Walking through the forest he’s only ever seen through the window, feeling the wind in his hair, visiting the market, meeting and talking to people - _nice_ and _kind_ people . Riding Maximus, spending time at the meadow, and eventually seeing the city for the first time - none of that was dark either. Neither was getting to draw with chalk, going to the ocean and feeling the water against his skin, seeing the library, dancing… 

Finally seeing the lights he’s been dreaming about for so long. In fact, that had been nothing but bright - both literally and figuratively. 

It occurs to him that none of these experiences have been anything but amazing. He inhales shakily. _Harry_ wasn’t cruel or dark. Not until he left. For a while, meeting Harry - going on their adventure - was the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

With a pained sound, he turns onto his side, curling up on the mattress. His eyes fall to Mother’s jewelry box - the one he used to go through when he was younger, trying on her necklaces and bangles and holding her earrings to his ears and making faces in her mirror. 

He asks himself a question he’s afraid to answer. If he could go back to the beginning, would he choose to never have gone on the trip at all?

And perhaps a more frightening question lies just below it: is the world still worth it? 

Some part deep in his heart thinks _yes._ But if Louis has learned one thing from recent events, it’s that his heart is not to be trusted. 

Sitting up, he takes a deep breath. No more being sad, he tells himself. He was sad the entire way back from the capital, so sad that Pascal’s greeting squeak was now set to a default of concern. He can’t let Harry triumph over him like this - he can’t let him win. 

Louis just needs to put it all behind him. He gets up, but stills when his eye catches on the jewelry box again. The lid is askew over the main container, exposing glimpses of gold chains and polished pearls. Mother has always had an extensive and ever-growing collection of jewelry and he’s never given it a second thought, but now it strikes him as strange. Things like this are _expensive,_ but where does she get the money to purchase them? 

In fact, where does she get her money to purchase _anything?_ Food, clothes, books, and more… She always returns from her trips with something new.

He frowns, hands raising up and gripping the lid before he can change his mind. He lifts it and sets it aside, peering down at the tangled mess of various charms and lockets. They’re all pretty in their own right, dozens of carefully chosen pieces that were painstakingly crafted together. 

It feels a bit dumb, going through them all, but Louis is completely acting on instinct as he digs through the box, chains and beads and gleaming stones sliding through his hands. His eyes trail over each one, but then they catch on something shining.

Eyes widening, he grips the golden chain and tugs it out. The charm swings in his hold but he stops it, placing it flat in his palm. 

The Coronian sun.

Mother has a necklace with a Coronian sun charm. He doesn’t recall ever seeing it before, but he must’ve forgotten. He studies it curiously, trying to pretend that the symbol doesn’t make him ache as much as every other reminder of his and Harry’s time together. But this is Corona, not Harry. 

He smooths a thumb over its front. Still a pretty necklace, he thinks. 

Humming to himself, he turns it over to see if the back is pretty too and then instantly freezes, eyes latching onto the unmistakable words engraved into the smooth gold back. They sear into his retinas, embedding into his brain. The sound that’s pulled from his lips can only be described as strangled, body going rigid and feet sprouting roots that curl into the floor. 

The necklace clangs as it hits the wooden dresser, slipping straight out from his fingers. However, he dropped it carelessly, and now the back is facing up, facing _him._ No matter how many times he looks, the sight doesn’t alter.

Louis stumbles back as if he’s been burned, world shifting beneath his feet. 

-

A day passes in painfully slow increments. Harry remains pacing the length of his cell for most of it, trying to pretend he’s somewhere else - somewhere vast and spacious and open. He is used to walking, but not like this. 

The meals he’s served are just as he remembered, consisting of hard chunks of bread that make his teeth hurt after a few bites, thick milk that he can feel slide down his throat uncomfortably, and apples that are yellow and brown from age. He eats everything he receives without protest.

Night is a strange affair. He’s never been one to have trouble falling asleep in new places but of course, this is the exception. Everything is too loud - the snores of the man three cells down, the clang of the guard’s pollax against the stone floor whenever he shifts from one foot to another, the wail of the wind outside his tiny window. 

The cot is too small for him, feet sticking out over the end and elbows tucked close to his sides. He finds himself considering braving the hard floor when a rusty nail jabs his shoulder blades for the dozenth time. It’s also _cold,_ a scratchy thin blanket doing little to combat the chill that seeps into his bones well into the night.

But Harry grits his teeth and endures it, though he gets little sleep. The measly hours he does garner are plagued with restless dreams of blue eyes and rusted gallows. 

The latter is what eventually jolts him awake, sitting up in the sagging cot and pressing his hand to his throat with a grimace. 

Though Liam said he’d have a hearing, Harry lacks faith in the proceedings. He’s restrained and escorted to the warden’s room and subjected to an hour of accusations and condemnations, only allowed to plead his case at the very end. By then, he realizes he has nothing to say. 

So he tells the truth. He says that he committed the crime but he regrets it. He apologizes - to them and to the royal family (in spirit, of course).

He’s returned back to his cell then, his fate decided and a date of exactly three days away looming over his head. All he feels is _numb._

It’s early evening when the commotion registers in his ears, pace faltering in what must be his hundredth round across the cell in just the last few hours alone. Another meager meal of bread and milk sits like a lump of lead in his stomach. 

Frowning, he peers out through the bars just in time to see two bound men being escorted down the row of cells - two unmistakable redheads.

Harry is rooted to the spot as the guard unlocks the cell next to his and George and Stud are shoved inside. The chains stay on for them which means they must’ve put up some sort of fight before being apprehended. 

Liam Payne is the last one to arrive, sparing Harry not even a glance. _I told you,_ he wishes he could say. But he stays silent, eyes darting to the brothers every few seconds in fury and disbelief. They’re _here._ Here in the prison with Louis nowhere to be seen? What happened? Is Louis okay? 

He waits until the door slides shut with a clang and the guards leave, only two of them returning to their positions at the end of the room. Then he stalks up to the gate and grits, “Where is he?”

George is standing in the middle of the cell, not so much as twitching to acknowledge Harry’s question. Stud, on the other hand, is slumped on the cot, an expression of misery and dread etched across his face. 

Focusing on him, Harry repeats, “Where is he?” His grip tightens on the bars, irritation rising. “I’ll tell those guards about that stunt you two pulled at the City Garden last year. Bet they’d skip your hearing if they found out it was you two all along. So tell me, where. is. he.”

“You won’t do shit, Styles,” George scoffs, but Harry isn’t paying attention to him. 

Stud breaks. “We don’t know,” he blurts, and George groans. “We never even got to him.”

The relief that overtakes Harry then is so strong that he physically has to take a step back, letting out a shaky breath. They didn’t do anything to him - they never even touched him. As far as he knows, Louis is okay. Okay, and probably despising his guts, but Harry’s fine with that. Louis is safe - that’s all that matters.

But he isn’t finished yet, moving right back against the bars. “How the fuck did you know?” he hisses, voice dropping to a whisper. He doesn’t need to explain himself, only one thing he could possibly be referring to. 

“Like we’d tell you,” George sneers.

Harry clears his throat, cupping his mouth and raising his voice. “Hey, Guards! Got a confession -”

“Shut up,” George barks, lunging forward and into his face. Harry wrinkles his nose against the assault of his rancid breath. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Harry flashes a crooked empty smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line after the noose.” He arches his brow, waiting.

“It was the old lady,” Stud blurts, ducking his head when his brother turns to glare at him.

 _Old lady._ “What’re you talking about?” Harry asks, though an inkling begins to form inside him. 

“She’s the one that made the deal with us,” Stud rushes. “We get rid of you and pretend to kidnap the boy to scare him. She promised us each a handful of his hair in return.”

He stumbles back in shock, mind racing. “You mean it was a farce?” he blurts, feeling nauseous. “This lady paid you to be the bad guys so she could swoop in and save the day, didn’t she?” She wanted to be the hero, to be the solace. She can only be one person - Harry feels sick. 

“Yeah, but then she backstabbed us,” Stud spits. “She was supposed to appear and pay him off us but instead she knocked us out and took off.”

Harry is silent for a moment before clearing his throat. “The hair loses its magic when it’s cut,” he reveals coolly. 

“That fucking bitch,” George mutters, speaking up for the first time. 

All Harry can think about is Louis. His mother crafted this whole plot to win him over, to _fool_ him. It’s - it’s insane. She’s more manipulative than he thought, and Louis is none the wiser. 

Before he can speak again, the main door swings open and - Harry frowns - Liam Payne enters the hall again. However, it becomes evident immediately that he’s not alone.

The man that follows has the entire hall going absolutely still. He’s tall and broad, armor polished so brightly that _gleams_ and plume in his helmet higher than Harry’s seen on any other. 

There’s only one man he can be. Geoffrey Payne, the captain of the Royal guard and the father of Liam Payne.

Harry finds himself freezing on principle. He’s not naive - he knows the only likely reason Captain Payne would visit the prison himself is for him. It has him unnerved, feeling pinned to the place when the father and son come to a halt outside of his cell. 

George and Stud have retreated to the far side of their cell, both acting like they aren’t listening when they obviously are.

Geoffrey’s stare is cool and assessing as he studied Harry carefully. He flicks a glance at his son, raising a brow. “This is him?”

“Yes,” Liam says, sounding sullen. It wouldn’t take a genius to see the two of them have a precarious relationship. 

“Harry Styles,” Geoffrey says, enunciating every syllable with a tinge of curiosity in his voice. “The man who made off with the couronne de soleil. Thought you’d be different in a way.”

He doesn’t respond, lips pressed flat. All he can think about when he sees this man, polished and imposing in his Royal armor, is the fate that awaits him in a week. This man stands for everything that he could never have, everything that people like him were supposed to fear. But here in this moment, Geoffrey Payne is just a man. And Harry won’t give him the satisfaction of his dread. 

“Well,” Geoffrey says, looking amused. “You were good enough to get past my son and his company of bumbling fools, anyway.”

“Father,” Liam says, sounding reproachful. 

“It’s true, son,” Geoffrey says. “This thief made spectacles of you and your men. And in doing so, he exposed the Royal Guard as _inadequate._ You didn’t even fucking catch him yourself, for fuck’s sake. He was delivered to you already bound and restrained.”

Liam ducks his head, jaw set. For a moment, Harry feels pity for him. 

Then Geoffrey turns to him, an expression of loathing dripping from his features. “I suppose all's well that ends well,” he says, an edge in his voice. He meets Harry’s eyes, gaze burning with contempt. “Justice will be served and our lost prince will be avenged. Styles here will be hanged for his crimes, just as he ought to be.” 

Harry stays silent again, not faltering under the harsh words or heavy gaze. His mind snags on the words _lost prince_ again, something twisting inside him. 

“Did you inform Jaya of the development?” Geoffrey asks, turning to Liam. “She’s been so invested in this chase, for whatever reason.” 

“I did,” Liam nods. “She didn’t seem too excited.” 

Geoffrey scoffs. “Probably because her ridiculous vision was proved wrong,” he says. “The prince’s nineteenth birthday has passed and he hasn’t returned to the capital.” 

Harry freezes. _The prince’s nineteenth birthday has passed and he hasn’t returned to the capital._ “Who’s Jaya?” he asks, before he can stop himself. 

Both of them glance at him in surprise, clearly having forgotten his presence. In Harry’s line of work, the ability to become invisible is necessary. Liam frowns at him, and for whatever reason (an attempt to slight his father? a lapse in judgment?) he actually _answers_ him. “The royal sorceress,” he reveals while Geoffrey rolls his eyes. 

“Royal fraud, more like,” he mutters. “The only good thing she did was find that bloody flower.” 

_Flower._ Harry feels dazed all of a sudden, mind racing as the pieces begin to fit together, things becoming crystal clear. _The eyes and the hair. Nineteen._

“The lost prince is alive,” he blurts. It takes him a second to realize that the declaration has come out louder than anticipated, a rush of murmurs from surrounding cells reaching his ears. But more importantly, both Liam and Geoffrey have frozen in place, gawking at him in disbelief. He clears his throat awkwardly, forcing himself to continue. “The lost prince is alive,” he repeats forcefully. “I know he is.” 

There’s a weighted pause before Geoffrey lets out a bark of laughter, sharp and surprised. Harry barely manages to quell his flinch. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that Jaya put you up to this,” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s been poisoning everyone at the palace with her tall tales for years. We don’t have a fucking heir and it’s because the queen and king believe her claims that the prince will return. What fucking nonsense.” 

“It’s not nonsense. It’s the truth,” Harry says as steadily as he can. “The prince is alive but he’s in _danger.”_

“Right, and I’m next in line for the throne,” Geoffrey spits. “Who do you think you are?” 

Harry takes a deep breath. “His name is Louis.” 

A beat passes. Geoffrey goes rigid, whirling on Liam and gripping his shoulder. His eyes are the embodiment of furious. “How the fuck does he know that? What have you been spilling?”

Liam looks horrified, shaking his head violently. “I don’t - I don’t know,” he stammers. “I didn’t tell him. I haven’t said it out loud ever, I swear. I know it’s a secret.”

“You fucking bastard,” Geoffrey hisses, shaking him wildly. “How else would be fucking know? Why would a lowlife like him know the name of the sun prince?”

“Because I’ve met him,” Harry interrupts loudly, making them both pause and stare at him. “You have to listen to me.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, boy,” Geoffrey says coldly. “Now tell me how you know that name or you’re going up to that noose with one less finger.”

Tamping down a grimace, Harry repeats himself, “I know him. I know the sun prince. His name is Louis and I’m telling you that he’s in danger.”

“How are we meant to believe that?” Liam asks while his father just scoffs. 

“Even if the prince is truly alive and not dead, how would you know it’s him,” Geoffrey says. dismissive. “It’s been nineteen years. I reckon their majesties couldn’t recognize him.”

 _His hair is pretty distinguishable,_ Harry thinks, but he won’t reveal that secret because he promised Louis he never would. But there is _one_ part of that secret that he can share - one that will prove he’s right.

Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, Harry closes his eyes and begins to sing. 

“Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.” His voice comes out quiet and unsure, melody wavering and tune close to unrecognizable. But the lyrics are right. _It_ is right. 

When he opens his eyes, both Liam and Geoffrey are gaping at him in shock and disbelief. 

“How did you -” Geoffrey breaks off, stunned. 

Harry exhales. “I’m going to say it one more time,” he says slowly. “The prince is alive and he’s in _danger.”_

-

“Louis? Louis, what are you doing up there?” Mother calls out, voice drifting up to where Louis is sitting on the alcove, still as a statue. 

He’s been up here for an hour, mind whirling and spinning and turning, always reaching the same conclusion. He feels faint, hands shaking where they’re curled into his shirt and throat dry. It’s impossible. He’s told himself that a dozen times, but it never quite takes hold. Everything he knows is unravelling before him, the truth peeking it from behind it. 

For the first time, he attempts to say it out loud. “I’m the lost prince.” It comes out in a murmur, shaky and nauseous. 

Down below, Mother sighs. “How many times do I have to remind you. Speak up, Louis,” she scolds. “You know I hate the mumbling.” 

The words scrape his ears, sharp edges prodding at his insides which are aflame in anger and hurt. He stands up gazing down at her with a face of stone. She’s always been so familiar to him - her velvet dresses, raven curls, amber eyes, and sharp smiles. But now the illusion wavers, cracks slashing through the picture he once revered. 

“I am the lost prince,” he says. Loud. Strong. Sure. 

Mother stills. 

“Aren’t I?” he continues, throat filling with bile. He takes a step forward, forcing himself to remain steady. “Did I _mumble,_ Mother? Or should I even call you that?” 

There is a pause before she speaks. “Louis, do you even hear yourself?” she asks slowly. She is calm, posture straight and face unapproving. God, she’s a brilliant actor. And Louis, her naive audience. “How could you ask such a ridiculous question?” 

In response, he slides the necklace out from under his shirt, light glinting over the smooth gold and the letters he’s reread over and over so many times that it’s engraved into his head. 

_Prince Louis, our little sun._

“What does that prove?” Mother says flatly, but her eyes are fixed on the necklace, a cold sort of calm settling over her face. 

“How else could you explain this?” Louis asks, heart unsteady. Lost prince. The same age as him. The same _birthday._ He blinks at her, lips twisting. “You haven’t even properly denied it.” 

“Darling, no offense, but you’re being delusional,” Mother says, smile stretched and oh so fake. 

Louis takes a step forward. “Where did it come from?” he asks. “If I’m being delusional, explain where you got something like this. Why you’d engrave ‘prince’ onto it and who ‘our’ refers to.” 

She doesn’t reply, looking at him wordlessly. 

“You can’t,” Louis says, exhaling shakily. “You can’t explain it, because it’s not yours, it’s mine.” He takes a step back, hands lifting to his hair as he blinks back tears. “I look just like them, don’t I?” he asks. He thinks back to the painting he had seen, to the king’s blue eyes and the queen’s light brown hair. Her button nose and his freckles. So many traces of him reflected in their features. His _parents._ “I’m the lost prince,” he chokes out. 

Mother pauses, jaw setting. “You _were_ the lost prince,” she corrects, but Louis cries out, fingers shaking with the anger that floods him. 

“So it’s true,” he says, feeling the ground shift beneath his feet. “Who are you?” he asks then, because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who she is at all. She isn’t his mother, has never been - not by blood nor love. She is a stranger. A liar. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this. It’s my fault, I suppose,” she says, taking a step forward. Louis mirrors her, taking a step back. “I never could resist pure Coronian gold. But I should have thrown that into the river nineteen years ago.” 

“The plan was to _never_ tell me, right?” Louis says, bitterness soaking his word. “You’ve been lying to me my entire life and you feel no ounce of regret.” 

“Everything I’ve ever done was to protect you,” she says, sharp. Her eyes flash, a hint of her own anger sliding out.

“Protect me?” Louis repeats, incredulous. His fingers curl into fists, body vibrating with outrage. “Lies do not equal protection. _Hiding_ does not equal protection. You kept me here in this tower for _nineteen_ years, and it wasn’t to keep me safe - it was to keep your dirty little secret.” Tears spill out onto his cheeks, burning paths down his flushed cheeks. 

She purses her lips. “I’ve given you a good life,” she says, as if that erases everything else. 

“You _took me_ from my family,” Louis sobs, voice ragged. 

“I _am_ your family!” she roars. “I am the only one that loves you, you stupid fool.”

“But you don’t love me,” Louis screams, stumbling back. “You never did. You love my magic. You love that I can keep you young. You don’t care about _me_ at all, and you never have.” 

Mother’s face contorts, lips pulling into a frown. “You know nothing,” she says. “I may not be your biological mother, but I’m the one that raised you. I’m the one that gave you a home. You are mine, Louis. You always have been.” 

He rears back in shock. “This is not a home,” he says, feeling the truth settle in his stomach. “Homes cannot be built on lies, only love. And you are not and will _never_ be my mother. A mother is supposed to love you and care for you unselfishly. A mother _believes_ in her child. You’ve told me my entire life that I’m weak, but I’m not. I'm _strong._ Stronger than you thought and stronger than _you.”_

“You are nothing but a child,” she spits. “A child who knows nothing of the world. You don’t want to be with me? You wouldn’t last without me. You _need_ me.” 

“No,” Louis shakes his head, a sense of calm falling over him. _“You_ need me, but I don’t need you. Not anymore.” He takes a deep breath, glancing over to Pascal who’s been watching the proceedings with wide eyes. “I’m leaving,” he reveals. 

She scoffs. “Where could you possibly go?” she asks, before her face changes, smile taunting. _“He_ won’t be there for you. I made sure of it.” 

_I made sure of it._ Louis goes rigid, realization washing over him. “What did you do?” he asks, heart pounding. What if Harry never left at all?

“That criminal is to be _hanged_ for his crimes,” she says, sounding almost gleeful at the words. 

Louis slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, choking out another sob. “No,” he rasps. “No, no, no.” 

“But he will be,” she says with a harsh laugh, “and then what? You have _nobody,_ Louis. Nobody but me.” 

“You’re wrong,” Louis croaks, mind racing. Harry’s words come back to him from a place deep inside his brain. _I think the king and queen are still just hoping that one day he’ll be found._ “I have my parents,” he says, confident. They’re the rulers of the entire kingdom - surely they can pardon Harry if Louis convinces them to. That is, if he’s not too late. _No,_ he thinks. He can’t think like that. Turning his gaze back to the woman in front of him, he takes a deep breath. “You won’t get away with this.” 

“You can’t leave,” is all she says. There is a layer of something dark over her face - something that makes him shiver. Something that makes it clear that this is the type of person that steals babies from their parents and uses them for their magic for their entire lives. 

His _entire life._ He’s been living a lie, his entire life. The rage comes back in full force, so strong that he’s vibrating with it. 

“Watch me,” he grits finally. And then he walks right past her, knocking their shoulders together in a petty shove as he goes.

He makes it two steps before a hand curls around his arm, wrenching him back. His gasp gets caught in his throat, heart pounding as the grip tightens around his elbow. 

“You want me to be the bad guy?” she asks, voice scarily soft. “Fine, I’ll be the bad guy.” 

-

If someone told Harry a week ago - or even a day ago, really - that he’d be walking through the city with _Liam Payne_ by his side, he would have laughed in their faces. 

However, that’s exactly what he’s doing now. 

It’s actually more of a brisk walk since Liam is leading his horse and Harry’s still got his hands tied behind his back (which has garnered plenty of curious and concerned looks), but it’s still a very strange situation. Harry feels jittery, frustration growing every time Liam lets out another impatient sigh. 

“Why can’t you just borrow one of our horses?” he asks, _again._

“Surprised you’re so eager for me to sully your stallions with my criminal aura,” Harry says flatly. “And I _told_ you, I want my own horse.” Maximus isn’t really his horse, but he’s still familiar and best of all, not royal in the slightest. “It’s just another few minutes,” he adds. 

They’re heading back to the inn Harry and Louis stayed at during their first night in the city. It has a small stable which is where Harry left Maximus in the care of the stable boy on Louis’ birthday, planning on returning to get him the next morning. 

Liam lets out a breath. “Didn’t you say the situation was pressing? Why are you wasting so much time?” 

“Every time you speak, I grow more exhausted,” Harry says, “so how about you keep quiet.” He shakes his bound wrists. “Or you could untie me and I guarantee I’ll be walking a lot faster.” 

“Yeah, a lot faster _away from me,”_ Liam grumbles, flicking him a dark look. “I’m not taking any chances, Styles. We’re doing this my way or no way at all.” 

“You mean your father’s way,” Harry corrects, knowing he’ll be prodding a nerve. It really is Captain Payne’s plan, after all - well, with Harry’s input, of course. They have three days - three days for their only hope. Harry knows it’s enough. “Everything has to be his way, huh?” 

He considers it a victory when Liam settles into stony silence. Minutes later, the familiar outline of the inn comes into view and they both instinctually walk faster. Harry’s mind wanders to Louis again, something he’s finding to be quite inevitable. _Sun prince._

Louis, the boy he found in a tower that’s never been outside and whose only company came in the form of a bratty chameleon, is the fucking _heir to the kingdom._ It’s been close to four hours since the realization has settled but Harry still hasn’t gotten over it.

Brushing those thoughts out of his mind before he loses it, Harry directs Liam to the stable. They find the boy Harry paid to keep an eye on Maximus, and he feels some pity for the poor soul as he stares from Liam and his sword to Harry and his bound wrists in shock and confusion.

Maximus is resting lazily in one of the stalls, ears twitching when Liam and Harry make their entrance loudly. 

“Can you untie me now?” Harry asks, still a bit disgruntled. Technically, Liam could have untied him the moment they left the prison as he’s officially pardoned for the time being, but Liam refused, waxing bullshit about being safe and not sorry. “I’m literally unarmed,” he points out. They had made sure of that, and while Harry considers himself an excellent thief, even he hasn’t quite figured out how to snag something while restrained. 

Liam sighs but begrudgingly undoes the knots, reluctance dripping from every movement of his fingers. “Don’t try anything,” he still feels the need to say.

Harry rolls his eyes. Like he’d do anything to jeopardize his one chance to find Louis and get out of this mess alive. “Yeah, yeah. Just so you know, you’re paying for any fees for the next couple of days,” he says. “Since I’m coming along as your guest and all.” 

He turns to the stall, immediately meeting Maximus’ wary eyes. “Hey, buddy,” he greets carefully, trying to remember what Louis did. He relaxes his stance and lets the tension from the current circumstances ease from his shoulders, appearing calm and harmless. 

It seems like it works at first, Harry moving closer slowly and carefully, but then Liam _sneezes_ and he tenses again, just like that. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry murmurs, but he takes a deep breath. “Hey, Max... I know we don’t get along all the time, but this is important so I’m going to need you to listen to me,” he starts slowly, waiting for the horse’s eyes to meet his. “We’re under a bit of a time constraint, bud. I’m going to need you these next couple of days to ride harder than you’ve probably ridden before, but I know you can do it. If not for me, do it for Louis.” His voice has dropped to a whisper, hoping seriously that Liam isn’t listening in. _“Please.”_

As if he can hear the desperation in Harry’s voice, Maximus relaxes, even letting out a soft whinny. He lets Harry saddle him up and then lead him out to the dirt paddock. He and Liam mount their horses at the same time, riding out to the main road. 

“You sure you know where we’re going?” Liam asks a bit later. They’re skirting around the edge of town, trying to avoid the lingering festivities that will most likely not die out for another couple of days. 

“I’m sure,” Harry says. The hidden tower may not be on any map, but Harry knows he can find it again - find _Louis_ again. The line of the city comes into view a minute later and soon they’ll be crossing back over the bridge out of the capital. Harry has left this city dozens of times in the past, but never quite like this. 

“Well,” Liam says belatedly. Harry glances at him, musing at the contrast between his worn clothes and Liam’s polished armor, the differences between their backgrounds and motives. Despite the gap between them, they are heading in the same direction with the same goal: bring the sun prince home. “Lead the way.” 

Harry tightens his grips on the reins, and looks ahead. His eyes meet the horizon but he imagines that his vision stretches farther, deep within the forest where a stone tower lays hidden in a secret grove, deep to where Louis is, waiting. 

-

It was raining the day Esmera was born. 

The sky was gray and fog heavy over Caoria, sliding in from the bay. The townspeople were expecting a storm but it had come earlier than they thought. 

Esmera had come earlier than her parents thought too. They weren’t ready for a child yet, young and poor and scared. Esmera’s mother was crying when they placed the wailing baby in her arms and the midwife had cooed at the sight. How sweet, she had thought. A mother’s dream has come true. 

But Esmera’s mother never dreamed of having a child. She left Esmera at the local orphanage days later, bundled up in an old woolen blanket the color of the sea, skin pink and smooth. 

It was raining the day Esmera left the orphanage, newly turned eighteen, a handful of coins in her pocket and a cap pulled over her long curly hair. She didn’t know what life held for her next, but she knew that she could not stay in Caoria where the memories of her childhood were lurking behind every corner and side of building, seeping from every gap in the stone. 

Over the next five years, she trekked all across the kingdom, meeting people, seeing things, and growing more and more restless. Back then it was difficult to find work, especially for those without education or figures built for hard labor. But Esmera persevered. 

Her hands grew gnarled and rough from stitching, muscles sore and achy from long days spent standing and working. A hunch developed in her back, knots forming between her ribs that she could not undo. The clothes she helped sew were given to women her age, but so different. Their skin was smooth and their hair was glossy. They glided across the streets she hobbled down. Esmera grew bitter with those people, with the world. 

It is something awful, Esmera learned, to be vain but poor. 

She was working at a shoe shop when she met Reina. She bore the same tired lines and stubborn chin she did, the same spirit and the same hatred. Reina was a year younger than her, but she was the one to take Esmera under her wing, showed her something that could change everything. 

Magic. 

For once in her life, Esmera had something that those girls didn’t. She had _power._ And she wore it like a queen, feeling the magic thrum through her veins until _she_ was the one gliding down the streets while others stared and wondered. 

The next few years were good. Esmera lived and thrived more than ever before. Her abilities opened a whole new realm of possibilities and opportunities. She and Reina moved to a new town together to begin anew, begin above rather than below. They went out on nightly adventures, dancing and drinking and flirting. It was a good time. 

But the magic she and Reina wielded was a tricky kind of magic. It gave, but it also took. It drained their youth until the color bled from Esmera’s hair and her skin, leaving her a pale ghost of the beauty she used to be. She felt it like the loss like a throbbing wound, pulsing and festering. She was growing old, but she still had so much life to live. When you’ve had a taste of something golden, it’s hard to go back. 

Esmera never wanted to go back. 

She packed her bags and said goodbye to Reina for the next few months, determined to find a solution that lasted longer than the potions they brewed by candlelight from faded words in Reina’s grandmother’s grimoire. Those simple spells slowed the process, letting her years thread on longer than the average person, but it still wasn't enough. She still wasn’t satisfied. So she would search, she would find. 

And then, one day, she did. A whispered rumor about a golden flower that glowed brighter than anything in the world. A flower that was located deep within the forest where no one dared to venture. 

Esmera dared. She tore through the forest with nothing but her magic to guide her, threads of a greater knowing leading her forward, leading her to her future. But she was not the only one blessed with magic. She was not the only one who was counting on this flower to give life. She was not the only, and she was not the fastest. A group of men, all broad and burly and completely magic-less. They were led on by the directions of someone blessed - they were faster than her. 

She was too late. At least, she thought she was. 

It wasn’t hard to follow the men. She just listened to the sound of boisterous celebration and deafening cheers. She listened, learning of the longing queen and desperate king, of the salvation this flower meant for the kingdom. She listened and plotted and schemed. Then she followed them back to the city. 

Esmera has always valued the importance of patience. It is something she fostered and nurtured through the years, letting herself lean on it when time seemed to slow and the days grew long. She was able to lean on it for the next nine and a half months, watching and waiting from the shadows. She had done a lot in her years, but never anything like this. Somehow, the thought didn’t faze her at all. 

Beauty. Youth. Life. The promise of more was just within her grasp, she knew. All it took in the end was a small child with wide blue eyes and golden tufts of hair. 

It was raining the day Esmera was reborn. 

-

The forest is deathly still. That is, until Harry and Liam crash through the silence in a torrent of galloping hooves and harsh breathing. They’ve been riding for over a day straight and they’re finally almost there. 

Harry can recognize the trees around him, the same land he was crashing through what feels like a millennium ago, a crown in his satchel and an out at his fingertips. It feels like an eternity has passed from the day he stumbled across Louis’ tower and met the boy who changed everything. 

It seems surreal when he finally catches sight of that familiar outcropping, hidden in plain sight, so simple for what it hides beyond. 

“Here,” Harry calls out, bringing Maximus to an abrupt stop and hushing him when he brays in surprise. His heart is thumping in his chest, beating against his ribs. His throat is dry, muscles stiff and chapped. But he has never felt more awake.

“One hour,” Liam warns him, dismounting right after. “Then I’m coming up.” 

“I’ll be here,” Harry promises, handing the reins off to him. _“We’ll_ be here,” he amends. Him and Louis. Louis and him. 

Liam nods and then hands Harry the sharp iron stakes he’ll use to climb. Harry turns to face the covered overhang, approaching it quickly. He feels a bit unsteady on his legs, limbs sore and aching from long periods of exertion with little recovery time. But he keeps moving forward, faster and faster, the pain going unnoticed.

It strikes Harry in his core, the knowledge that he’d run for Louis without a second’s doubt. He’d run until his feet were tender and bloody and his lungs were raw and shrunken, because for once in his life, he’d have something - _someone_ \- he was running to. 

The meadow looks just like he remembered but he doesn’t dawdle, eyes trained on the tower which stands so unassuming and still. He walks up to it, breath caught in his throat. Louis is up there, he reminds himself, trying to ignore the prickling sensation that something is not quite right. 

Taking a deep breath, he lifts one stake to the stone, eyes wandering over the imprints of the arrows he used last time, still embedded in the gray. Before he can puncture the stone, a rope drops down beside him, nearly smacking him in the side. 

He jumps back, startled. It’s the rope from the pulley, swaying gently in the breeze. He tilts his head back, craning to see above at who let it down, but he finds no one at the window. Swallowing his unease, he sticks his foot into the familiar hold, gripping the rope tightly with two hands. He doesn’t have a second to doubt his choice before the pulley creaks and suddenly he’s moving up. 

His hold tightens, rope scraping against the skin of his palms and the blood in his body rushing north. He keeps his gaze trained on the stone as he rises higher and higher from the ground, breeze tugging at his shirt and face. 

When he reaches the edge of the window, he finds the curtains drawn. It’s the first warning sign, but Harry’s desperation outweighs it. He hauls himself up and over, yanking the fabric aside as he slips into the tower. 

It’s dark. It pushes in on him, wrapping around his body and pulling him in.

“Louis.” The name spills from his lips unintentionally, the same name that’s been echoing in his head for the past three days since they parted. 

The response he garners is not the response he expects, hair on the back of his neck sticking up, body going rigid. A cold, hard voice right at his ear, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Light floods the room right as a dagger plunges into his stomach. 

-

Louis screams as Harry crumples to the floor, choking on the gag that’s been stuffed in his mouth. Hot tears soak his cheeks as Esmera turns towards him, eyes flashing. 

“Are you convinced now, Louis?” she taunts, before turning and landing a swift kick to Harry’s side. Louis screams again. “Your little thief can’t help you.” 

Harry keels over with a pained groan, hands pressing into his ribs where the fabric is rapidly turning blood. His eyes flicker open, finding Louis’ teary ones. “Louis,” he breathes through gritted teeth, eyes flickering shut. 

His protests come out in garbles, arms twinging as he strains against the chains Esmera put him in. Esmera, his non-mother. Esmera, a _dangerous_ stranger. 

“You see, Louis?” she hisses, whirling around to him and jabbing a finger in Harry’s direction. “No one is coming to save you. Our secret will die with him.” 

Anger rising in him, Louis lunges towards her, metal biting at his skin, yanking him back. Fire burns through him, worsening when Harry lets out another pained sound.

“Guards,” Harry spits out. “There’s guards outside. They know he’s the prince. There’s a dozen of them -”

Esmera scoffs. “We’ll be gone and you’ll bleed out before they can even figure out how to get up here.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Harry grits, face contorting in pain. 

“And you won’t live to find out,” Esmera says, letting out a hard laugh. She stalks towards him, a sickening grin on her face. 

Gathering all his strength, Louis squirms and writhes and struggles against the bonds, gasping out when the gag comes loose and air fills his mouth. 

“Stop,” he screams, voice pulling raw from his throat. “Don’t touch him!”

“There’s no use fighting anymore, Louis,” Esmera sighs, having the nerve to look irritated with him. She plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head. “All of this was inevitable, really. You never should have disobeyed me.” 

“I won’t stop,” Louis blurts, loud and hoarse. “I will _never_ stop. You can tie me up and gag me and lock me away, but I will never stop trying to get away from you. I will never stop fighting.” He pauses to take a ragged breath. “But… if you let me heal him, I’ll go with you willingly.” 

“Louis, no,” Harry rasps, pain lacing his voice. 

He ignores him, eyes fixed on the woman that has lied to him - _used_ him. If he could, he’d get as far away from her and her evils as possible, would never see her scorching eyes or curled scowl again. He doesn’t want anything to do with her anymore. But, for Harry… for Harry, he’d endure it. If Harry can live, Louis will survive. “Just let me heal him,” he says, voice calm and steady as his heart thunders in his ears. “I’ll never run or try to escape. I won’t fight. We can disappear and you can use my magic whenever you want. Just, let me heal him.” 

Esmera is silent for a minute, studying him intently to see if he speaks the truth. Louis has never been more honest in his life. What feels like a decade later, she nods. 

Louis breathes out a sigh of relief, shaky and hollow. Esmera works quickly, undoing his chains and then using them to restrain Harry, _just in case._ Louis just stands still, patiently waiting. He knows better than to try anything. He knows Esmera has some kind of magic herself, though he’s only seen her wield it to immobilize him the first time he tried to run, limbs turning to lead and senses slowing. It had drained her, he knows, watching her sink to the floor and rub her temples. But she still has powers, an upper-hand, so he’ll behave.

Anything to make sure Harry lives.

It still feels impossible to fathom that Harry is here, that he _came_ for him. But at the same time, _of course,_ he did. Of course he came for Louis. He promised together. He never left at all, not willingly at least.

“Hurry up,” Esmera spits when she’s satisfied with the metal hold around Harry’s wrist. 

With a cry, Louis rushes to him, knees hitting the wood painfully. He leans over Harry’s body, hands shaking as he hovers them over his body, terrified of touching. The wound looks bigger than before, red blurring into black as more and more blood soaks the fabric. They’re running out of time.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he says hurriedly. He means it as a reassurance to Harry but really, he’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince. 

“Louis,” Harry grunts. His face is pale with pain, jaw set and eyes squeezed shut. “Louis, I don’t think I’m going to make it, baby.” 

“No, don’t say that. You’re the strongest person I know,” Louis whispers fiercely, fumbling for Harry’s hand and squeezing. “You’re going to survive this.”

“Not very strong right now,” Harry chuckles, breaking off to wince. “Look at me.” 

“Physical appearance is never an indicator of true strength,” Louis says, blinking back tears. “Someone incredible taught me that.” 

Harry’s smile is sad. Well, it is until it flickers out into a pained grimace, breaths coming out short and strained. 

Gathering himself, Louis places his hands as close to the wound as he can without letting the blood stain his fingers. Then he takes a deep breath and begins to sing. 

“Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, take back what once was mine,” he begins to sing, stumbling over every other word even though he’s been repeating these same lyrics his whole life.

“Louis -” Harry tries to say, but he just keeps going. 

“Heal what has been hurt, change the fate’s design,” he pauses to let out a strangled sob. “Save what has been lost -”

Harry winces. “Lou -”

“Bring back what once was mine,” Louis continues, tears streaming down his face and wetting his lips. “What once was mine.” His voice cracks on the last word, body heaving with cries. “Work, work, please work.” 

But it doesn’t work - the blood continues to seep across the fabric of Harry’s shirt, staining it dark crimson and pooling bigger and bigger. Soon his entire front will be soaked in red. He starts singing again, faster, less coherent. Over and over until he’s sobbing every lyric, but nothing changes. The red keeps coming. Harry is still dying. 

“Please, please, please,” he chants, entire body shaking as Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he groans in pain again. “Don’t die on me. Please, universe. Please don’t take him from me.” 

“You said it yourself,” Harry mumbles. “It doesn’t work for major injuries.” 

“It has to,” Louis says, shaking his head as he chokes back another sob. “It has to, it has to. If I sing for long enough, it has to.” He starts singing again, voice wobbling and breaking as his throat fills with panic. 

“Lou,” Harry croaks, fumbling for his hand. “Lou, stop it. There’s not enough time.”

“You can’t die,” Louis sobs, hysteria clawing up his throat. The idea of a world without Harry tears through him, a knife to his heart. “You can’t leave me.” 

“I already am,” Harry says, giving him a grimace that was maybe meant to be a smile. “You on the other hand…” He pauses to wince, doubling over even more. “Don’t go with her. Promise me you won’t go with her,” he pleads. 

“It’s too late,” Louis shakes his head, squeezing Harry’s hand so hard that he’s sure it hurts. “I agreed already. It’s done.” 

“No,” Harry exhales. His hand snakes out so quickly that Louis nearly misses it, watching in a numb stupor as Harry pulls something out from behind his back. It’s Esmera’s dagger, still stained with blood. Louis is frozen in place as Harry lifts it up and then slashes behind Louis’ head. 

It takes a second for Louis to process the sensation of weight from his hair disappearing and the sudden rush of air against his neck - a second to realize exactly what Harry’s done, hands lifting to his hair and grasping nothing but air. 

He gasps in shock, rearing back, but it’s nothing compared to the guttural scream that sounds behind him. 

“No,” Esmera howls, rushing towards him and lunging for the fallen strands of his air. Louis jolts away from her on instinct, eyes widened in shock as she gathers up his cut hair with wild hands and clutches it close to her body, screaming _no no no._

Beside him, Harry exhales, body going lax. But Louis doesn’t notice, gaze too fixed on the ruination of Esmera, every sound pulled from her throat sharp and deafening against his ears. Very quickly, he realizes what this means. 

His hair was the only thread keeping her intact. She’s been leeching energy and life from his magic for his entire life, relying on it to keep her beauty and youth. But now it’s been cut off and all of its effects are being reversed before his eyes. 

It starts with streaks of gray, sprouting at the follicles of her hair and spreading down her hair, rendering her glossy thick curls to straw-like strands of pale gray. Her face drains of color, blushing cheeks dimming to gaunt, sunken features and sagging wrinkles. Her eyes go hollow, body hunching over as she screams and screams. 

Louis watches in horror as she stumbles back, clawing at her hair and arms with shrivelled hands. She’s shrinking, growing more and more frail and haggard. Then suddenly it’s like the air around her comes alive, pulling and tugging at her body. Her screeches grow choked and hoarse as bit by bit she comes undone, skin turning to blackened ashes. 

He is frozen in place as the only mother he’s ever known turns to dust before him - from something to nothing in the span of seconds. Heart in his throat, his eyes follow the remnants of her body as they float up into the air and vanish into oblivion. 

For a moment, Louis stares at the spot where she was just standing, numb and empty. A stifled groan snaps him out of his daze and he gasps in realization. “Harry,” he chokes, falling back to his knees. 

Harry is almost completely motionless, face gaunt and slick with sweat and lips parted to release short, strained breaths. The only sign he’s still alive. 

“You _bastard,”_ Louis sobs, a tremor wracking his body. He cradles Harry’s slack face with quivering fingers, hurriedly beginning to sing again. “F - flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock re - reverse, bring back what once was mine.” 

“Lou.” It comes out almost inaudible, but Louis cries out in relief. 

“Yes, I’m here,” he says, crowding closer, insides contracting. “Harry, I’m here.” 

“You’re free,” Harry rasps. 

“I am,” Louis chokes on a sob. “You will be too. Just let - just let me -”

“So stubborn,” Harry murmurs, a deep furrow forming between his brows as he hisses in pain. 

“Flower gleam and glow,” Louis begins again, louder this time. 

“Baby -”

He holds back another sob. “Let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, ch - change the fate’s design, save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine… w - what once was mine.” 

“Louis, listen to me,” Harry says, loud and pleading. Louis opens his eyes, not realizing he had closed them but understanding when he sees Harry’s state. He finds it almost cruel that Harry’s eyes are still shining so brightly. “You were my new dream,” Harry rasps wetly, words cracking through Louis’ heart. 

“And you were mine,” he manages to choke out. 

With one last laborious breath, Harry’s eyes fall shut again and he goes scarily still. 

The sound Louis lets out can only be described as _broken._ He scrambles to check Harry’s pulse, keeling over with another sob when he finds nothing. 

“No,” he cries, voice ragged. “Harry, please.” 

His vision goes blurry with tears, pain erupting in his heart as he leans over Harry’s body with no regard for the blood soaking through to his clothes, hoping and praying to the universe to bring Harry back, to let him keep playing the game of life, to find a _home._

Death has always been a concept he’s known about but rarely witnessed. He’s seen flowers wilt and fruit rot. He’s seen an unfortunate bird collide into the side of the tower and presumably fall to its death, unable to go and help out of fear of his mother. Not his mother. His something. He just watched her turn to dust and somehow this is what’s shaken him to the core. 

Out of all the beautiful things Louis has experienced over the past week, Harry was the best one. And now he’s _gone -_ disappeared to a place Louis can’t follow.

He’s so consumed by his devastation, that he doesn’t notice the warmth blooming in his palms which are still pressed tightly to the sides of Harry’s face. 

So consumed that he doesn’t catch the twitch in Harry’s hands, nor the first wrinkle of his nose. However, nothing could ever distract him from the shaky, “Louis?” that rings out from under him. 

Louis freezes, opening his eyes right as a hand settles over the middle of his back, warm and solid and _alive._ “Harry?” he breathes.

Harry is staring up at him, a pained smile gracing his lips.“I guess the universe let me have the round,” he croaks.

Letting out a shriek of disbelief, Louis flings his arms around Harry and squeezes him tight. Harry’s pained groan has him freezing and stumbling back. “Sorry, sorry -”

His apologies are cut off by Harry cupping the sides of his face and yanking him into a kiss, bruising and messy but achingly _real._ Harry is really here and alive and kissing him. 

He’s breathless when Harry pulls back in shock, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. “What is it?” he asks worriedly, because Harry looks spooked. 

“You’re glowing,” Harry blurts. 

Louis grins. “I’m just so happy,” he says, voice wavering with emotion. 

“No, I mean,” Harry says slowly. “Baby, you’re _literally_ glowing.” 

Confused, Louis looks down at his arms and then gasps at what he sees. There’s a faint but undeniable layer of light emanating from his skin, all the way from the tips of his fingers to his bare toes. “W - what?”

“You saved me,” Harry exhales, eyes shining with his own tears. “You healed me.” 

Unable to process what he's seeing, Louis keeps turning his arms over and tilting his head to look at his shoulders and back, inevitably meeting the same incandescent sight. “How?” he stammers. 

“All along you thought it was just your hair that was magic,” Harry murmurs, sounding awed. “Louis, _you_ are magic.” 

The words sink into Louis’ ears like a sweet melody. “Oh,” he breathes, completely stunned. Frowning, he looks down at his hands and _wills_ the light to fade. Something tugs inside him and just like that, the glow is gone. 

“Louis,” Harry breathes, sitting up and cradling his face again. There’s so many emotions infused in that single name - relief, wonder, happiness, and affection. 

“Harry,” Louis echoes with the same infliction. He lets Harry seal their mouths together again, so content that he can feel it in every part of his body. At this moment, they’re _both_ glowing. Bursting with light and thrumming with magic. They are both bright, bright, bright. 

He throws his arms around Harry and squeezes him tight, never wanting to let go. A hand cups the back of his head and then Harry pulls back with a frown. 

“I’m sorry about your hair,” Harry says, looking guilty as he smooths a hand over the crown of his head. 

Louis places a hand over his, smiling. “I’ll get used to it,” he says easily. In truth, he feels like a weight has been lifted from him - literally, but mostly figuratively. His hair represented so much loneliness and ignorance, nothing but a tool to be used by others. But now it’s been chopped off, and Louis is free. 

Unable to help himself, he tackles Harry into another hug. Harry lets out a startled laugh, but hugs him back just as tightly. 

“Your highness,” he murmurs then.

Ears burning, Louis mumbles, “Just Louis, please. Or ‘baby.’”

“Baby,” Harry amends, lips quirking up at the corners. “A very antsy Liam Payne is waiting back in the forest for news on your safety.” He pulls back, holding up his chained arm. “Could you please go tell him that everything is under control but that I would like some assistance.”

He grins, leaning down and pressing his lips to Harry’s mouth quickly - because he wants to, because he _can -_ before nodding. “Got it.” 

“Thank you,” Harry sighs. 

Louis finds Pascal in the cage Esmera stuck him in, using her abandoned key to free him. He tells the chameleon to keep an eye on Harry who mutters that he doesn’t need a frog to babysit him.

The fondness in his tone is something neither of them acknowledge. 

-

Walking through the city gates for the second time in his life is a peculiar experience. 

Louis feels a bit nauseous, stomach churning and thoughts whirling through his head and leaving him dazed. His nerves are sparking with every step he takes closer to his future. A hand curls around his, warm and solid. He exhales, glancing over at Harry who’s giving him an encouraging smile. 

Ahead of them, Liam is talking to the pair of guards standing by the gate in hushed murmurs, gesturing behind him to Louis. They peer over at him very unsubtly but Louis was expecting it, has been preparing for this moment for the past two days of their journey. 

He thinks back to their first meeting. Liam had taken one look at Louis and was rendered speechless. Unlike Harry, he’s seen the queen and king in person plenty of times, and he could see both of them reflected in their missing son. There was no question. The lost prince had been found.

And now he’s coming home. 

It’s an understatement to say Louis is terrified. He’s spent the last two days trying to process the fact that he has a family he never even knew about - a _royal_ family. It still seems so unfathomable that he’s a _prince._ Not even a prince, but _the_ prince. 

So yeah, it’s more than a little intimidating. But Louis is ready. He has Harry by his side and Pascal on his shoulder, fresh air brushing his skin and sun shining down on his face like a warm caress. He is ready. 

The first step into the city seems to reverberate, but after that, everything moves quickly. They let Liam take the lead, finding them a brougham carriage and a full on escort. Harry and him sit pressed together inside, and Louis squeezes his hand, heart racing as they make their way to the palace. He can’t even look out the window, too nervous and anxious. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Harry whispers, reaching up to thumb at the sun necklace Louis is wearing. “They’re going to love you.” 

Pascal offers his squeak of agreement before hopping down from Louis’ shoulder to explore the strange vehicle. Louis watches him go before turning to Harry, lips dipping down into a frown. 

“What if they don’t?” Louis asks. 

Harry tilts his head. “They’ve been waiting for this for nineteen years,” he says gently. 

Louis looks away, sucking in a breath. “What if I’m not what they expected? What if I disappoint them?” 

A hand cups his chin, turning his head so Harry can kiss him softly. “Impossible,” he murmurs. “You’re you.”

Smile blooming on his lips, Louis scoots closer and fits his head on Harry’s shoulder, content that if everything goes sour, at least he has Harry with him. As if sensing his thoughts, Harry squeezes his hand again, resting them in his lap. 

By the time they arrive at the palace, Louis feels calm. 

Of course, that all evaporates as he shakes hands with Liam’s father, the captain of the Royal Guard, and when he and Harry enter the palace in all its gold glory. His hands are shaking as they’re led down the hall, steps echoing against the marble floors and looming walls. 

He’s so nervous that he’s unable to appreciate the beauty of the space around him. Smooth pillars, vaulted ceilings with painted borders, elaborate chandeliers, pots and pots of flowers everywhere he looks, and _suns._ Coronian suns everywhere - plaster molds on the ceiling, carved engravings on the walls, painted renderings on the vases and furniture, woven outlines on the carpet when they reach the second floor… Louis clutches the sun on his necklace and tries to calm himself. 

Finally, they’re directed out onto a wide balcony, a view of the city laid out before them as the afternoon sun beats down on their faces. Louis curls his hands into the railing, eyes wandering over the streets and houses that look so miniscule from this distance and then out to the sea, so blue and steady all the way to the horizon. 

“You okay?” Harry asks, appearing next to him. 

“I’m going to throw up,” Louis blurts. 

Harry’s eyes widen, automatically turning. “Okay, maybe we should call -”

“I’m joking,” Louis shakes his head, a flicker of amusement breaking through amidst the torrent of panic and nausea raging through him. He wraps his arms around his middle, sucking in a breath. “They said it wouldn’t take long, right? How long do you think it’d take you to find a way out of here before they arrive?” 

“A couple minutes, give or take,” Harry murmurs, instantly indulging him. He leans in close, face serious. “You still got that frying pan?” 

Louis lets out a startled laugh, turning back to stare at the sea where it meets the sky, shades of blue melding together so perfectly. 

He’s staring off into the distance, mind turning, when a gasp sounds behind him. Louis freezes, feeling a prickle of awareness - of _knowing_ \- wash over him. The king and queen of Corona are behind him.

His _parents_ are behind him.

For a minute, he’s frozen in place, unable to turn and confirm that it’s real. Tears fill his eyes and his heart hammers in his chest. A hand presses into his shoulder, tethering him to the ground. 

“Turn around,” Harry whispers. It sounds like he’s smiling. 

With a deep breath, Louis does. He nearly crumples to the ground at the first sight of the man and woman standing behind him. Any words or greetings die on his lips as he takes in the faces of his actual parents.

King Marcus. His father who has the same blue eyes as him, the same freckles. And Queen Josephine, his _mother._ He looks at her - sees their shared nose and hair, sees the emotion brimming in her eyes. He exhales, and takes a step forward. 

“Hi,” he says, voice coming out wobbly. He fumbles to hold up his necklace, to _prove_ that he’s actually theirs and not an imposter, but neither of them wait that long.

Next thing Louis knows, he’s engulfed in a hug. The weight in his stomach eases in favor of the weight of arms wrapping around him, squeezing him like they can’t quite believe he’s there. 

“We’ve missed you for so long,” his _mother_ says, sobbing into his shoulder. 

Louis starts crying then too, leaning into the embrace and letting the pain and relief and joy pour out of him in a flood. He feels simultaneously off-balance and steadier than he’s ever been. Somewhere between the sobbing and mumbled promises, Louis opens his eyes and peeks over his father’s shoulder to where Harry is watching him with an expression so soft that Louis wants to cry again.

Harry catches his eye and mouths something, pointing over at the door. _Should I go?_

Louis immediately shakes his head. _Stay,_ he mouths, before carefully pulling back. He takes his parents’ hands in his, feeling warmth swell in his heart. 

“Mother, father,” he says, liking the way the words feel on his tongue. He catches Harry’s eye again, grin unfurling like petals on his lips. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

-

“Are you sure about this?” 

“Yes,” Louis repeats for the third time, rolling his eyes. 

Still looking uncertain, Harry carefully takes a step into Louis’ room, looking back over his shoulder like he’s afraid someone’s going to come out and tackle him for daring to enter the crown prince’s royal suite. 

“Harry,” he says, dragging out the syllable in a whine. “Nothing’s going to happen!”

“I’m just being _cautious,”_ Harry defends. His eyes fall on Louis before trailing down over his thin white nightclothes. He clears his throat, averting his eyes abruptly. “You know this will look super incriminating right?” he asks. 

“How so?” Louis asks innocently. He lifts his hands up to mess with the collar of Harry’s shirt, watching his eyebrows rise to his hair. 

“Oh, no,” Harry says, grabbing his wrists gently and moving them back to his sides quickly. “We’re just sleeping, alright?”

“You’re no fun,” Louis sighs, crossing his arms. 

“Baby, we both know that’s not true,” Harry says, pressing his palms to the sides of Louis’ face and then pulling him into his chest when he leans into it. “I just don’t want your parents to know me as the thief that corrupted their precious little flower,” he mumbles, fitting his chin over the top of Louis’ head. 

Louis giggles into his chest. _“Deflowered_ their flower.” 

Harry bites his ear, and Louis pinches his bicep in retaliation, already feeling a million times lighter with the solid weight of Harry’s arms around him, holding him close. 

It’s almost midnight, Louis is sure. They had dinner hours ago and it had been a long affair as always, a new set of guests visiting under veiled excuses in hopes of seeing the lost prince for themselves. Louis’ mouth still feels stiff from all the excessively polite conversing he participated in. He wonders if his facade came across as flimsy as if felt. 

Brushing the thought off, he lets his hands drift lower, fingers skimming down Harry’s abdomen before brushing over the button of his trousers. 

“Okay, maybe I _should_ leave,” Harry says, catching his hands with an amused smile. But then he brings them both up to his mouth, pressing his lips to Louis’ knuckles tenderly and letting them linger. 

“Don’t,” Louis says weakly, heart fluttering at the action. “Stay.”

“You’ll see me in the morning, Lou,” Harry murmurs, “Not running anymore, I promise.”

“I know you’re not,” Louis says, lips curving up into a smile nonetheless. “But…” He pauses, trailing off. He doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know how to explain that his bed doesn’t feel right, that sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and shivers at the unfamiliar shadows around him, that this grand and gleaming place is beautiful but so foreign to him. 

It’s been just under a month, but Louis still feels like he’s walking on eggshells - like if he steps too hard then the floor will crumble from beneath his feet and he’ll be dropped back in the tower, alone and lonely again. 

“Just… please,” is all he can manage, hoping Harry will hear the urgency in his voice and relent. 

And he does, eyeing Louis softly before nodding. “I’ll stay,” he says. 

Louis exhales, relief filling his mouth. He takes Harry’s hand and tugs him to the bed, all too happy to retire to bed without any other activities if it meant Harry would be beside him. It makes him a little bit too giddy to think that there’ll be an imprint of Harry’s body in his astonishingly soft mattress tomorrow morning, remnants of his scent and touch. Something familiar in a room that is not. 

“I don’t care if you’re not supposed to be in here,” Louis says when they’ve both laid down under the covers, facing each other in the dark. “You have to sleep in my bed with me every night. I’m making it a royal decree.”

“Don’t think that’s what those are for, baby,” Harry murmurs, but he doesn’t protest Louis’ request. “And _technically,_ I’m really not supposed to be here in the palace at all.”

Louis huffs. “Yes, you _are,”_ he says, lips pulling into a pout. “Queen - Mother and Father pardoned you without hesitation and said you were welcome here as long as you want… Besides, _I_ want you here with me, all the time.” 

Harry’s smile is small but fond. “What my sun prince wants, my sun prince will get.” 

Cheeks burning, Louis ducks his head. He still feels weird when Harry refers to him with his title, but this is different. The emphasis on _my_ makes his heart stutter. “And don’t you ever forget it,” he mumbles, hiding his face in Harry’s chest. 

Sensing his sudden shyness, Harry changes the topic. “You had that meeting today, huh?” he asks, nudging Louis’ shoulder. 

He hums his assent, eyes fluttering shut when Harry starts petting his hair tenderly. 

“How was it then?” Harry’s voice drops to a whisper, shifting a bit closer and reaching a hand out to thumb over Louis’ cheek. 

“Good,” Louis says softly. “Really good.” 

Louis met Jaya, the Coronian royal sorceress, for the first time over a week ago. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t first feel unnerved around her. Magic seemed to draw to her like the flowers to the sun, a heavy aura of something borderline _celestial_ hanging over her at all times. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit awed when she first took Louis’ hands and told him that she knew he’d come, that she’d seen it in the stars. 

“You hold a great power within you,” she said, voice smooth and wise. “If you want, I can teach you how to wield it, for _good.”_

Well, it’s not like he was going to say _no_. 

She told him to come see her that morning in the Royal observatory and he went, spending the next two hours sitting on velvet cushions as Jaya explained how _light magic_ works. That’s its name - the name of the gold that flows from his skin when he wills it. He finds it rather fitting. 

“There’s more to magic than I ever knew,” he confesses, “but I’m excited.” 

“I’m glad,” Harry murmurs. He pauses. “Your powers - your _healing_ powers… they have the potential to help a lot of people.”

“I know,” Louis whispers, the thought making him feel even more excited. 

Harry smiles at him. 

“What about you?” Louis asks, clearing his throat. “What’d you do today?” 

“Nothing much,” Harry hums. “Went walking around the gardens for a bit. Took Maximus for a ride and bumped into Liam so we rode back together.”

“You and Liam Payne _getting along._ Who’d have thought?” Louis teases. 

“I suppose he’s alright,” Harry dismisses, grumbling. “You know, when he’s not trying to arrest me.” 

Louis murmurs his agreement, eyes fluttering shut when Harry continues to play with his hair, brushing it back away from his face and then tangling his fingers in it. It makes him sigh in contentment, pressing into the tender touch. Over the past weeks, his hair has slowly but surely been growing out again. It no longer glows when he sings, but Louis doesn’t really mind the loss, especially since he doesn’t even need to _sing_ anymore. He can’t really find any fault with it though, especially when Harry has a fascination with running his hands through it, winding it around his fingers and smoothing his palm down the back of his head when they hug. Or, _tugging_ it like he’s doing now. 

It sends a shock of heat through him, breathy whimper spilling from his lips as he grips Harry’s shoulders. 

Harry draws in a rough breath, hands stilling in their ministrations. “Baby.” 

Feeling a sudden surge of desperation, Louis leans up and finds Harry’s lips, mouths sealing together with matching sighs. His fingers curl into Harry’s shoulders, digging in as Harry slides a hand up his nightshirt, skin burning hot under his big palm. 

His lips part when Harry nips at them, but then Harry jerks back, breaking the kiss. 

“No, no,” he says, voice hoarser than it was moments before. “No - none of that, lovey,” He sounds a bit like he’s reminding himself too. 

Louis groans. “Why not?” he complains. 

“You know why, _flower,”_ Harry murmurs, amused. 

“What if the flower wants to be deflowered?” Louis whispers, biting his lip. 

Harry tilts his head back, eyes fluttering shut. “Self-control,” he says, and then repeats it. 

“What if his royal highness specifically requested it,” Louis presses, sliding his bare foot up the side of Harry’s leg slowly. He leans forward, nosing up Harry’s throat and feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple when Harry swallows. 

“Who knew the crown prince was such a tease?” Harry rasps, fingers pressing into the small of his back, his hips, the back of his neck. 

Louis scoots in closer, a frisson of heat sparking and settling in the base of his stomach. “Please, Harry,” he tries. “I _need_ it.”

“How can you need something you’ve never had?” Harry counters, but he doesn’t push Louis away when he sneaks his hands under his shirt, flattening his palms against his stomach and feeling it tense beneath his fingers.

“Because I know it’s going to be good,” Louis says, honest. He feels that first spark of heat expand, rising to his chest and flushing up his neck. “Want it.” 

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, hand curling around his hip. “We shouldn’t,” he decides, but then his grip is tightening around Louis’ hip and he’s pushing him down flat against the mattress in one swift movement, hovering above him .

A gasp falls from Louis’ lips when Harry rucks his shirt up under his arms, leaving his torso bare under the light from the moon and Harry’s heavy gaze. 

“Is this okay?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Louis breathes, a tremor traveling down his body. _“Please.”_

Harry responds by ducking down and mouthing at his chest, closing in on his nipple and sucking. Louis mewls, heat pooling under his skin and legs spreading automatically to give Harry room when he crowds closer. 

“You're so beautiful,” Harry mumbles against his skin, before switching to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment. “Sound so pretty.” 

Louis writhes under the sensations, flush spreading all the way up his neck and collecting in the apples of his cheeks. His fingers curl into the sheets, clinging helplessly as Harry tongues at the tender buds, thumbs digging into Louis’ ribs, pinning him down.

“What do you want?” he asks after, dragging his lips up an imaginary path from Louis’ collarbone to the hollow of his throat where he presses the words.

“In,” Louis blurts instantly. “Want you to be in me.” 

“Fuck,” Harry repeats, teeth scraping over his pulse. “You sure, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Louis says, pushing up into Harry’s lips when he ducks down to kiss him. 

“Okay,” Harry mumbles into his mouth, sounding dazed and overwhelmed. Like just the idea is getting to him. “Okay.” 

He cries out when Harry pulls back, stumbling off the bed. 

Harry hushes him, leaning back down to kiss his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Just need to get stuff, baby. Not going anywhere, promise.” 

Louis feels embarrassed by how jittery he feels during those excruciating couple minutes it takes Harry to find oil, tripping over something in the bathroom and letting out a colorful swear that Louis can’t even be amused by because of how desperate he feels. He feels like he’s burning from the inside out, senses sluggish and insides contracting. _Needy,_ he feels needy. Clingy. 

But Harry returns, a vial of coconut oil in his hand that Louis had used in his hair earlier that day. Knowing what it’s going to be used for now makes him blush. 

He pouts when instead of returning to his spot between Louis’ legs, Harry just stops and stares at him for a moment. “Harry,” he pleads, holding his hands out desperately. 

“I’m right here, flower,” Harry says, snapping out of his reverie. He climbs back over Louis’ body and slots their lips together, kissing slow and sweet. Louis tugs at the material of his shirt until he takes the hint and tugs it off, revealing the toned planes of his stomach and chest. 

His skin is hot to the touch when Louis hesitantly presses his hands to his abdomen, suddenly nervous and shy. But he still lets Harry take his nightshirt off properly, smoothing his big hands down his chest and bleeding heat into his skin. His hands skim down to his waist, breath fanning out against his throat.

“Is this okay?” he asks, a deep rumble from his chest. 

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, voice ragged. He wonders if Harry can hear the way his voice wobbles - from desperation, from nerves, from something else he doesn’t know how to describe. 

Harry catches his lips again, parting them and licking into his mouth. “I’ll take care of you, baby,” he says. “It’s just me and you on another adventure. Are you ready?” 

Louis shudders, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes,” he breathes. 

The world goes hazy, everything but the weight of Harry over him dulling to a faded thrum in the background. He curls his arms around Harry’s neck and lets him be his anchor, lets him guide two slicked up fingers between his thighs where he’s aching for it, lets him take him apart and then put him back together. Because he knows that when he falls, Harry is always there to catch him. 

Soon he’s squirming, pushing back against Harry’s fingers and grasping at the sheets with shaking hands. A litany of whimpers and pleads spill from his lips and Harry drinks them in from his mouth like it’s the sweetest nectar. 

“Please, please, please,” he’s mumbling. 

“Almost,” Harry soothes, sliding another long and thick finger inside him, moving them slowly but surely. 

It feels - it feels indescribable. Louis has never felt pleasure like this, every part of his body quivering with the strength of it. Curling at his toes, trembling in his fingers, pooling in his stomach, brushing at his lips, squeezing at his heart. Everywhere. 

When Harry finally pulls his fingers out and leans back to shove the rest of his clothes off, Louis is close to sobbing, tears brimming in his eyes, thighs quivering when Harry pushes them up to his sides with gentle hands. 

Harry grabs his hand and kisses his palm before tangling it in his own. He presses their linked hands into the pillow above Louis’ head, and then he’s lining up, pressing his lips to Louis’ mouth to swallow his moans as he begins easing in. 

Louis feels dizzy at the feeling. It hurts a bit, but Harry goes slowly, peppering kisses all over his face and whispering sweet encouragements into his ear, letting him squeeze his hand as tightly as he needs. Eventually, pain blends into pleasure, and he whimpers pleas into Harry’s jaw until he finally moves.

His hips draw back before carving out a steady and languid pace, tangling a hand into Louis’ hair and just keeping it there. “So good for me,” he murmurs when Louis shudders at the feeling. “Feels nice?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, unable to articulate anything else. He feels himself going boneless from the pleasure, body sinking into the sheets and limbs going lax. Those threads of heat are still spreading, building and building. His free hand digs onto the swell of Harry’s shoulder, nails cutting shapes into his skin as he whines. 

“Let go, flower,” Harry coaxes, nipping at his lips. “I got you.” 

All too quick and all at once, Louis jolts, wetness pooling on the curve of his stomach. He goes slack, energy drained out of him as he gasps for breath. Harry’s still moving, chasing his own release. Louis tries to help him, meeting his thrusts even though it hurts a bit. 

Then his body tremors, slumping forward as he empties out inside Louis. His lips part at the foreign sensation, squirming a bit. Harry grips his chin with his fingers and kisses him properly, heartbeats falling into rhythm and breaths slowing. 

A few minutes later, Harry gets up to get a rag and then wipes them both down before settling back in bed and pulling Louis close. Louis presses his cheek to Harry’s chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart, letting it lull him. Even all these weeks later, Louis still feels reassured by the sound. 

There’s something blooming inside him, bursting from his ribs and filling his lungs, his throat. It’s an all-consuming ache in his chest, a flutter in his pulse. It’s something he feels the strongest whenever he’s right next to Harry - when he sees him smile or hears his laugh. It takes him a minute to realize what the feeling is. 

_Love._

“Harry,” he finds himself saying, feeling the words on the tip of his tongue and his heart racing in his chest. 

“Hm?” Harry pauses his movements but keeps his hands in Louis’ hair. 

Louis swallows, feeling his heart swell. “I love you,” he breathes. 

For a second, it seems as if Harry is frozen in place, but then he lets out an exhale. “I love you too,” he echoes, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s the first time I’ve ever said those words,” he adds, sounding a bit dazed. “And the first time someone’s said them to me.” 

Unable to respond to that, Louis just hugs him tighter. He resolves himself to saying it everyday. 

“Can’t believe you stole my heart,” he murmurs after a few minutes, nose scrunching as he tries to hold back his smile. The laugh Harry barks out ruins his efforts, making him grin in satisfaction. 

Harry cups the back of his neck until he tilts his head up to look at him, green eyes shining brightly even in the dark. “Warning, I don’t give back the things I take,” he whispers. 

“Well, warning, I don’t want you to,” Louis whispers back, giggling when Harry bites his ear. It turns into a soft gasp when Harry seals their mouths again, tugging him impossibly closer. 

He sleeps better than any other night he’s spent at the palace. 

-

Louis used to wish that his life was a fairy-tale, all obstacles minuscule and conflict fleeting. However, he’s realized over the past six months that reality isn’t quite so bad. 

It’s not always easy, of course. Nothing worth doing ever is, Louis learns. He learns a lot of things over in that half year. He learns what it means to be a prince, slowly consuming years of experience and knowledge with the help of royal advisors and more. He also learns more about his powers, practicing with Jaya every day and becoming more confident in his abilities. 

He learns what it means to be part of a family. 

Spending time with his parents is hard at first, nearly two decades hanging between them like an uncrossable ravine. They didn’t know how to relate to each other at first, didn’t have any common ground. The customs of nobles confused Louis and in turn, his lack of societal experience and habits such as walking around barefoot or painting on his walls baffle them. Despite all differences and barriers, Louis slowly gets to know both his mother and father. And they learn from him in return. 

But they’re not his only family, Louis knows. 

Pascal is thriving in their new home, so much land to explore and plenty of willing people to entertain him. The cook, Darla, grows a fondness for him in particular, feeding him strawberries and apples and peeled oranges whenever he scampers into the kitchen. 

Harry’s been spending a lot of time with her too, learning how to bake bread and dozens of other pastries. But that’s not all he’s been doing. Louis has seen the papers spread out over his desk, scrawled notes and diagrams and ideas. It’s a spread that’s been growing over the past six weeks ever since Harry first mentioned the idea to Louis’ father and he gave Harry his approval to draft a blueprint for a royal orphanage as well as a proposal to present to Court. 

Louis is excited for him, knowing how special this project is to him. Because Harry’s not just planning on giving kids a place to stay - he wants to give them a _home._ A safe space filled with love and kindness and warmth. Louis is enamoured with the way Harry talks about it, going off on tangents about planning activities and working out an agreement with Darla for food and creating a place where all lost boys and girls can belong.

It’s in those moments that Louis falls that much deeper in love. 

Love. That’s what he and Harry have. A thread between them that glows brighter than the brightest lights, growing stronger with every day that passes. It is something steady. Constant. _Beautiful._ Yes, it’s something beautiful, Louis thinks. Something beautiful to have that one person who makes everything seem a bit brighter, even when things are _far_ from easy. 

There are moments that Louis startles awake in the middle of the night with memories of blood pooling and bodies turning to ash. Moments when Harry thrashes in his sleep, hands unconsciously clawing at his neck in silent panic. 

But in those moments, Louis will turn and see Harry next to him, see the soft rise and fall of his chest and maybe even press the pad of his finger to his pulse to find the steady flutter that proves he’s safe and alive. Then he’ll cuddle up with his ear to Harry’s heart and feel calm again. 

And when Harry gets a nightmare and almost shoves him off the bed with his twisting, Louis will wake him up and comfort him with soft reassurances and they’ll hold each other until the pounding of Harry’s heart fades into the background. 

They get through those moments, _together._

There’s a lot they do together now. Sleeping (both meanings), eating, laughing, walking around the city and talking to people, kissing, _learning._ Harry teaches Louis how to swim, long hours spent in the water, soaking in the sunlight and watching the sky turn pink. Louis teaches Harry how to dance, tripping over each other’s toes and giggling into each other’s necks as they waltz around the ballroom with no one but the walls to witness their form. A million little adventures spent _together,_ but he knows this is just the beginning. 

Louis knows Harry still wants to see the world, and frankly, he aches to see it too. There’s thousands of things he wants to do, really. Read every book in the royal library, cover his alarmingly big new room in paintings of his favorite memories, meet as many people as he can, and more. So many little dreams that will hopefully come true. 

He finds it reassuring that no matter how many dreams come true, there’ll always be _more._ More places to see, more things to try, more memories to be made. Louis wants to spend the rest of his life making all his dreams come true, and maybe helping others do the same. But he also finds it reassuring that despite all those unresolved dreams and open unknown, there is one dream that will always remain certain. 

And two years later, when that dream gets on one knee with a beautiful ring and asks Louis to build a home with him, Louis only has one answer for him. _Yes._

After all, despite all the dreams that have yet to come true, _love_ will always be Louis’ best adventure. 

-

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _I See the Light_ from the movie, of course. 
> 
> Find me at:
> 
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> 
> Feel free to reach out or say hi! Or send me an ask on [cc](https://curiouscat.me/falsegoodnight) with your thoughts!


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